Heart of the Realm
by Eu Tyto Alba
Summary: KH1-only Ansem biography. Ansem and Sora were not so different once, but people change. Strong hearts and sharp minds are only so resilient against misfortune; The good prince never stood a chance. Seeker of Darkness / White Witch
1. Dark Night of the Soul

**'Official' Heart of the Realm Synopsis:** "Heart of the Realm" tells the story of an incredibly unlucky boy who grows up to be king of an entire, tiny planet against his will. Benevolent and wise to begin with, he looses everything: His dreams, his family, his friends, his health, his sanity, his kingdom, and eventually his very humanity, and becomes the mad-scientist antagonist in another young hero's story. His plans for universal domination thwarted, will Ansem ever come around again, and finally have his own happy ending?

There will be four complete acts, with the third covering the events of KH1 including the nine years prior to the start of the game when Ansem was supposedly missing after releasing the Heartless, and the fourth covering what 'REALLY' happened after the game when Ansem and Riku were blasted with Light from the door to Kingdom Hearts.

Due to the immense length of this story, I will only write this one draft. Alerting me of technical errors will be greatly appreciated, but I shall not bother to fix them. I'd rather internalize the lesson so as not to repeat the mistake in any future projects. Mere spelling errors are not so bad, as I know there ain't many comparatively.

The first five and a half chapters (46,054 words) were written under the pressures of the NaNoWriMo writing challenge: Write a 50k-word novel in 30 days! Hence occasional weirdness in my story's logical structure. I was much too noble in that I tried incredibly hard to maintain correct _grammatical_ form during the challenge; Other NaNoWriMo participants whom I met (in person) were practically disgusted with me. LOL

Index of Original Characters: Hans, Zoe, Freyr, Savanna aka Sai, Monty, Mort Aufero Caelum, Dulce, Basil, Ivy, and most minor characters without names. I give this list just so that the rightful owners of all the other characters (Ansem, Noctis, Hojo, Dick Van Dyke, the Swedish Chef, etc.) receive their due credit. There might still be some OCs I've forgotten, so I'll update here as soon as I remember.

Now without further delay, I hope you enjoy my masterpiece, Heart of the Realm!

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Chapter 1: **Dark Night of the Soul**

Rushing ebon rivers line the silver-black streets. White lights flicker in the windowpanes of a dozen silver-blue modern monoliths, their messages lost in the quivering reflections. The hour is midnight and all the businesses are down for the night, the awnings over each and every darkened doorway resound along the quiet streets like war drums being beaten by the rain. And lo, two mysterious warriors step forward out of the mist! Clashing blades, neither seems superior, and they battle long and hard into the night. When at last one of these young men seems to have been felled, with a final gasp he cries out to the sky and the clouds part. Suddenly he is engulfed in flames as his figure shifts before the other warrior's eyes. The momentary victor cannot comprehend, paralyzed in his shock by the former's enchanted transformation. Where a pale-skinned, short-brown-haired boy had been, now a dark-skinned man with long white hair now be. No less extraordinary a change than Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde! Struck dumb by fear and awe, along with a sickened feeling somewhere in the deepmost corner of his soul, the onlooker forgets to struggle as he is seized by the man around the throat, and blacks out.

With a jolt like a heartattack, up leaped a young boy who had been sleeping fitfully in his bed. A few beads of sweat christened his brow. His breath came in long, labored heaves as though he'd just been jogging. Untangling himself from the sheets, he slowly began to remember where he actually was, still wrought with vivid images from his distressful dream. The sun was well still down, and the whole sprawling metropolis viewable from the boy's window gave off but a minimal amber glow. The hour must have been around 1am or slightly later.

He lit a candle to calm himself, solidifying the room to his distraught senses, and retrieved a small leatherbound volume for amusement. However, try as he might to deny it, the dream somewhat fascinated him and continuously butted its way to the forefront of his thoughts. Whenever he recollected the experience, more strongly than ever would that sickened, knotted feeling return to his gut. His point of view had been that of the onlooker, and yet his opponent had physically appeared to be himself! Conversely, the boy could not at all recognize who the older man was, wrack his memory as he might. This night he had seen himself transform into a complete stranger. One who then proceeded to strangulate him!

Ill content to ignore the dream, he stowed the book away and got out of bed. Surely there must be an answer in his father's library! for the king of Hollow Bastion was by no means a light reader. Ansem, 14, was the younger of two sons, both of whom the kingdom testified were chips off the old block. Quiet mannered and studious, all three of them, with nothing particularly striking about their physical features. (Brown hair, blue eyes...) In a prolonged era of peace, this easygoing monarchy suited the nation just fine.

Ansem descended some flights of stairs holding his candle at arms length before him, green carpet along the steps protecting his bare feet from the otherwise freezing cold stone of his castle home. He slid his other hand along the curvy metal banister, however, feeling the burn of ice. The outlines of free standing shelves gradually loomed out of the darkness ahead, growing taller with every step. Alas reaching their midst, Ansem pondered where to begin.

"Dreams...dreams...dreams..." he uttered under his breath, running a hand through the air as he read the spine of each tome it pointed at. Ah, a lucky strike! Found almost instantly, a book on dream analysis and philosophy. Ansem took it and seated himself in an armchair by the dark window, and set his candle upon its sill. Dipping once again into his memories, he struggled to put his dream into words so that he could at least try to look up what it meant. If anything.

"A battle with myself...and then I suddenly turn into somebody else and kill myself..." The very sound of it phrased in its simplest manner made his hair stand on end. Yet for all its almost four-hundred pages, the book proved of little help. On one page yet it did give a short statement in that, in any given dream, every single character is in fact the dreamer him or her self. But so far is where its use ended.

Dull blue light crept in through the uncurtained library window, indicating the great length of time Ansem had spent scouring through it. He put it away and crept back up to his room, hoping that he will be allowed to sleep late. In his room, he put his candle down atop his dresser and took a long, serious look at himself in the mirror. He made a face trying to impersonate the ferocious glare his opponent-self had shot at him just before he transformed. In real life, however, Ansem's bangs fell forward and hid his eyes, meaning the expression physically impossible. At this, he felt a surprisingly huge wave of relief then settle in, such indicating that he was apparently more troubled than even he realized.

_Interesting_, he mused, lightly bemused, then blew out his candle. Whence suddenly Ansem's reflection went dark and irrational fears jolted him once more, his pitch black silhouette outlined in dull morning blue.

Once he had heard that seers in ancient times were able to penetrate the future by gazing prolonged into darkened mirrors. It was not the future he wished to see, but perhaps he could still penetrate a mystery... So Ansem imagined that he was still dreaming and that his reflection in the mirror was his opponent approaching to face him in battle.

"We meet again," he said quietly, trying not to disturb the sacred stillness of the morning.

"And so I hope for the last time, you wretch," he said, imagining that it was his reflection who said it. "You will die today." Ansem was shocked by his own vehemence and decided that maybe he had better take it down a notch.

"So stranger, come here often?" was then what he suddenly wanted to say, and snorted a short laugh.

"Fool, you cannot conceive of the circumstances about to befall you," he continued, getting back into character by glaring through his brow and sneering.

"Fine then, enlighten me," said his real self to the image, somewhat actually hoping for a spontaneously inspired answer that could help him resolve his dream.

But his reflection only smiled back at him with a malicious glint in its hidden blue eyes, and Ansem suddenly burst into flame. He screamed in terror and tried to pat the fire out, but his whole body was engulfed and he felt a strange sensation besides the heat, as if strong broad fingers were tightening around his throat. At a loss for hope of salvation, the boy finally whipped around to look in the mirror thinking that he must either die, or live-out the worst part of his nightmare. What he saw in it instead of himself or his bedroom was a dark vortex that impressed upon him like the very maw of Hell. And standing in the vortex, a shadowy semblance of himself with glowing yellow eyes and its right hand held out like an invitation.

"No... No... NO! _NO!_" Ansem screamed as he fell over backwards while trying to get away. His back met the wall and set the room on fire too. It spread unrealistically quickly as though the wallpaper had been prepared in gasoline. But nothing turned black, instead only changed form into other furniture, other settings, other vivid colors like red and blue and pink. Nor was smoke emitted, but the place took on a noxious smell of chemical fumes. In so pure a panic that almost bordered on rage, Ansem reached for the heavy clock from his nightstand and used all his might to throw it at the mirror. Were it not for the wall behind the glass, it would have broken right through. As it were, the clock bounced from the now cracked mirror and left a great welt in the top of the old walnut dresser. Silver pieces of glass followed it, tinkling loudly as they hit. But all other things that were strange in the room suddenly vanished. The flames and the vortex, the demon doppelganger, and that ridiculous smell.

Ansem, so deeply affected, just sat on the floor where he happened to be, and cried. Now without a mirror, he noted the color of his hands, never more glad in all his life to just be himself.

However, suddenly a new fear struck upon him as he heard the sound of a hurried commotion coming down the hall just outside his bedroom door. Someone had heard him!

"Guards," he whispered, judging by the unique sound of their metal boots striking the stone floors right through the carpet, and the constrained clanking of the joints in their armor as they ran.

He panicked, knowing full well that he did not have the authority to command them not to come in if they had sufficient reason to doubt his wellbeing. Well, he _wasn't_ well, but not due to the ill will of an intruder. To hide was his first inclination, first of all to conceal his stained face, then next because he was about to get in huge trouble for the damage that he caused. But Ansem was smart enough to realize that doing so would have only made the guards' fears seem that much confirmed; They'd alert his parents and tear apart the castle and all its grounds looking for a nonexistent criminal! So, collecting himself, he scrambled to his feet and dried his face on his blue silk pajama sleeves. He brushed all the broken glass from on top of the dresser onto the floor, towards its end farthest from the door where they wouldn't see it, and kicked the ruined clock as far as he could underneath his bed. Next he picked the broken mirror itself up by its engraved walnut frame, laid it flat on the floor, and slid that under his bed as well. The stage looked convincing enough, he thought, trying again to wipe his feelings from his eyes with his hands just as the guards made it around the last corner and finally into his stretch of hall.

"Prince Ansem!" a strong voiced bellowed through the thick wood, "If you're in there, let us in or I shall have to break this door down!"

"Hold your horses," Ansem groaned loudly in reply, crossing the spacious room. He promptly undid the lock, but opened the door slowly so as to only peek at them through a crack. There were two of them outside from what he could see, both high ranking and both comically surly.

"My word, child! Er, I mean Sir! What have you done to your face?" The first man gasped suddenly.

"What?" said Ansem, profoundly confused, his mind only falling back on his worst fear.

"You're bleeding!" the helmeted man said.

"Oh," chirped Ansem simply, kind of relieved, and wiped his face with the back of one wrist to see where, only to realize that the palm of his hand was bleeding too. Looking back over his shoulder, Ansem saw drops of blood left in a winding trail all over the floor.

"Come on. We'll take you to get fixed up," the leading guard said, probably as fatherly as he was ever able to, and lead the young and very tired prince away through the hall. Ansem was just glad that the guy said it wasn't his business what mischief he had been up to all night, even though he also assured Ansem that his parents _would_ immediately be notified of his injury.

The rising sun had now broken through the horizon, changing the sky and thin clouds outside from dull blue to pale gold and lighting up the stained glass windows all throughout the castle. Colored patches of light appeared high up on the walls opposite them, indicating the direct angle from which the earliest light penetrated their whimsical designs. The new day came unwelcome to Ansem's weary eyes, which refused to adjust to the creeping brightness and involuntarily tried so many times to close while he walked.

By reaching the medical wing, he felt pretty much a zombie. At least until he spotted another mirror, where he finally could see for himself the mess he'd become: Tangled hair, shadowed, swollen eyes, and several long gashes around both of his eyes which lead him to realize that there must have been shards of glass caught in the fabric of his sleeves. Though, fortunately, his hands were not carved nearly as badly.

A kind nurse seated him on a tall stool and washed and bandaged all these wounds. Then Ansem stretched out on a cot to rest while he could, before he would have to explain everything when his mother got there. He really wasn't looking forward to lying, but how could he tell the truth and not sound insane? Maybe if he said he was sleepwalking... He tried hard to convince himself that such an excuse would almost be true, but then again he secretly had to admit he'd been far more awake then than he was even now.

Closing his eyes though, in spite of how badly he needed to by this point, just brought all those terrible images flooding back to him again, causing him to toss and turn with the nurse as his witness. Fortunately, the large white bandage on his face helped to hide the fast ailing color of his complexion, as well as the expressions of extreme anxiety that he was otherwise failing to bottle. Too quickly, or perhaps not quickly enough, was Ansem able to slip back in to the land of slumber and dreams.

But he came to in a wasteland. Scars in the earth dominated the landscape, and there was not one surviving creature or plant to be seen to the flat, orange horizon. The sky, too, was orange. Was it late in the day in this dried up, barren place, or was this in fact a world at its end? Tens to hundreds of thousands of enormous hand weapons littered the land, many stuck straight down into the dirt and left standing up, as if in memorial for their fallen wielders. It was a haunting sight. There were so, so many of them... Clearly an apocalypse had happened here, perhaps centuries ago from the look of it. Upon closer inspection, Ansem realized that the colorful metal weapons were actually giant skeleton keys. Periodically, strong, swirling gusts of wind would arrive on this spot from the great beyond, causing the short chains that hung from the handle-ends of many of the keys to sway and rattle against the keys' hilts. It was a sweet, terrible sound, like a chorus of chimes in place of all the soldier's voices who had been silenced. It was no question who had been here, but when or even the reason why they died was already lost to history.

Amidst the sea of markers, a wide pathway had been left cutting through them for long absent travelers to use. Two such pathways crossed not far from the spot where Ansem found himself, like a giant negative X. He followed the path he was on toward the center of the X, for here there stood three keys apart from the rest. Such a placement seemed to suggest that they were somehow special. But why?

His fingers twitched, as if an electrical spark had just landed on his hand from somewhere, and suddenly he felt his grip tighten around something. Looking down, he discovered himself to now be clad from head to toe in red and brass-colored steel plate armor, as well as carrying an enormous blue and brass skeleton key like it was a sword. No longer could Ansem tell if he was in the past or present. An important battle was about happen. He could feel it in his marrow, as well as his breathing begin to deepen from the effects a preemptive torrent of adrenaline being dumped into his system. Two more knights clad in similarly-made armor filled in behind him, each carrying a key-sword of his and her own. The enemy had not actually arrived yet, but this was the correct meeting place. Noticing that no more knights appeared to be coming to join them, Ansem reached for the centermost of the three keys in the center of the X, taking it up in his free hand. His only-two comrades repeated likewise with the other two keys, sensing the impending difficulty of what was to come; They all knew there was no promise of victory today.

Staring determinedly ahead, the three waited only a moment for their foe to appear. Alas came a lone, old man with a bald head, dark skin, and a scraggly white goatee. He walked half bent over with slow, wide, confident strides, out of the distant orange haze. At once a strange figure to behold in this scene, but Ansem recognized the ugly geezer at once, and almost fainted. It was an older version of the man he saw his evil self become not but one dream ago. In fact, Ansem realized that he himself was somewhat older, too. About age 18, he thought to himself. Had they both been transported to the past, or was this the future?

A moment later a second figure appeared, seemingly right out of the body of the old man as though they had been spiritually fused. Or was the smaller figure, clad in black and red and masked like some drone without an identity of its own, simply an extension of the man, born of magic tricks?

This madness had to end, Ansem felt, his weakness from shock phasing into a kind of manic rage. Now was his chance to end it himself. Never mind the runt; He would defeat that devil and finally be at peace! The knight to Ansem's left rushed forward but a single step to initiate an attack when Ansem caught him by the shoulder and held him back. Instead, Ansem himself rushed forward and engaged the old coot who also wielded a key, though unlike any of the others on the field it was solid black and creepy looking.

Too quickly it became clear that the old man had powers more than fighting skill, for throughout the battle he commanded the winds of the sky and the very rocks of the earth to do much of his fighting for him, whilst he just stood by and smiled down upon the three knights. Maybe he _was_ the Devil, because his very poise indicated that he thought of himself equal to or greater even than God.

His companion, or pet, was more aggressive and attacked the knights personally. He, she, or it on its own was incredibly powerful, and it took the other two knights working together just to keep he, she, or it off of Ansem's back. For the moment, however, the lady knight seemed to be handling it, so the second knight broke away and tried a sneak attack on the old man from behind while Ansem distracted him. But the old man magically vanished as the knight struck, the knight's weapon cutting through empty air, and then reappeared behind the knight. The old man caught Ansem's friend by the helmet and dangled him over the edge of a high, 90-degree cliff with but a single hand. The young knight flailed helplessly as his helmet cracked under the strength of the man's grip, even so that pieces fell away like broken glass and exposed parts of his face. Ansem tried to rush in and save him, but the old man summoned a wind that even pulled many of the keys out of the ground. The gust swirled and writhed in the sky like a sentient being, visible only because it still carried a thousand keys within it, all of which battered against Ansem's armor like stones in a sandstorm, and carried him away.

The red and black fighter had escaped its lock with the lady knight, and returned to stand by its master's side as the old man cast another spell. The boy who's life he held in his fingertips suddenly burst into black colored flames, then as the flames went out, became frozen in ice. And with a sadistic sneer, the old man let him fall from the cliff. Ansem picked himself up from the dirt just in time to see his friend's weapon, still in his hand, hit a rock and shatter during his descent. But then the body fell out of view before Ansem actually saw him hit the ground.

The old man performed a fluttery little wave with his hand, magically changing his keyblade into some kind of blue and red ball of light. The light shot into the now overcast sky with a blinding streak, and with a bright blue explosion, suddenly illuminated the clouds from behind.

By this point, Ansem had never known such rage. In fact, he felt like his anger was eating him alive, and he only wished it would stop. But he couldn't quell it, and, tearing his helmet off, witnessed more black flames appear in a circle around him, this time coming from _him_. Without really seeing himself, rather just knowing, as often happens in dreams, Ansem could tell a partial transformation was taking place. A horrible one. Was the only way to defeat this guy to become just like him? By this point, Ansem didn't think he had a choice.

He could see the lady knight off in the distance, her own ruined helmet discarded as well, screaming at him. For his own good, Ansem knew. But he couldn't even help himself.

_Wake up...wake up...WAKE UP!_ he pleaded.

The clouds above parted, and from the gap that formed an enormous, luminous blue heart slowly descended and came to hover above the darkened wasteland. The old man's feet left the ground in a graceful, magical ascent to meet it. For whatever reason, Ansem knew this must not be allowed to happen. He got to his feet, his irises suddenly changing from angel blue to amber yellow no different from the very eyecolor of the old man, and sprang with superhuman agility towards him, as if in flight, leaving a streak of dark flames in his wake. He caught the old man around the waist with one arm and body-slammed him straight into the ground, so far below, then followed him down with a single, rising strike from his keyblade.

But as dreams often do, Ansem's perspective suddenly switched, so that when he struck the old man, he had seen his 18 year old self instead from the opposite point of view, flying down at him from out of the sky, facial expression twisted up in furious insanity. He had to admit, of the two faces, he personally found that his own was by far the more frightening. The last thing Ansem saw before he woke up were his own glowing golden eyes.

Returning to reality, the first thing Ansem noticed as he blinked were two small, closely situated lamps hanging from the high ceiling directly above where he slept. Maybe they had something to do with how that dream ended, he wondered. He _hoped._ Checking the old wooden clock on the wall, he discovered that it was now almost noon. The nurse told him that his mother came by not too long after he fell asleep, but found him already so deep that she decided not to wake him. Of course Ansem didn't reveal this, but he severely wished that his mother _had_ awoken him, would it have only prevented him from dreaming again.

"You should go see her," the nurse advised. "She cares more about your face than that mirror you broke."

_Gah, they've investigated!_ Ansem thought, wondering if they found the clock too, which had been his great-great grandfather's. "I'd like to get something to eat first," he said, and left the ward.

The first place he went, however, was back to his room, where he just sat in a winged armchair for well over an hour staring at the floor. The curtains had been thrown open so that the daylight flooded in. He could see the many distant and tiny blue mountains from his window, mountains which beyond laid the sparkling sea. The Capitol City lay in concentric circles around the king's castle, not too distant, but not too close either; The city life could be seen, but not heard. Ansem wasn't sure just how old the castle was, but he did know of at least one ancient ruin in a far off ghost town where his ancestors used to sit, back in their time.

He thought of the dreams, and pined to never need sleep again. He also thought back to the vision in the mirror, the vision which had _come out of the mirror_ and tried, so to speak, to ensnare him. The mirror frame was gone from the room, taken no doubt, along with most of the glass and the trail of blood he'd left, but here and there a bit of glitter still sparkled in the thick area rugs. This, and the scratches on his face and hands, were all hard evidence that prevented him from hoping that this whole morning had just been one long and really weird dream. Perhaps he _had_ been sleepwalking... If one can still dream with their eyes open... And though he smashed a few heirlooms, maybe the flames and doppelganger had not actually been real...

The boy felt pathetic that he should _hope_ to be going crazy, but he would infinitely prefer that to the alternatives presented.

"Ugly old fart, get out of my head," he hissed.

At longest last, however, a soft knock on his door roused Ansem from his dark thoughts, and his older brother stuck his head in.

"Hay, sleepyhead. How you doin'? Not so good, I heard."

"Eh, I'm okay," Ansem tried assure Hans, but didn't currently have the spirit to make those words sound the slightest bit convincing. Hans let himself in and leaned sideways against the wall with his hands in his pants pockets.

"I heard you drove a train through here...or wrecked a train in here...or that it was a train wreck in here...or something like that," he teased, and winked. "You're just lucky that we have, like, a million maids working for us, and janitors, and cleaning people, and repairmen, and fix-it guys, and firefirghters..."

Ansem had started to smile, but at the mention of firefighters suddenly reverted back to his former pallor.

"Yeah...," he gloomily interjected, trying to make his brother stop.

"What's eating you, anyway?" Hans asked at length, trying to empathize. He wasn't that much older than Ansem; About two years, but he still had a way with himself that was much older than that. It might have been the weight of his destiny, it being he and not Ansem who would one day rule over Hollow Bastion, that was to blame. Or so was all that Ansem could figure. Not that Ansem himself was immature, or at least no one had ever told him so if he was... (Regrettably, Ansem _was_ a tad shy, and knew it.)

"Umm, bad dream," Ansem answered, still trying to be honest, but vague. "Really bad."

"How so?" Hans persisted, earning a scathing glare from his younger sibling.

"Two, actually. I died in both of them," said Ansem, letting his gaze fall back to the floor.

Hans kept his mannerisms causal, probably trying to lighten the mood. "Oooh. Some a those, huh? Sorry about that," he said, bobbing his head and glancing once around the room. "But, ah, why take it out on the furniture? _If you don't mind me asking,_" he added, respectfully noting Ansem's aversion to details. But Ansem already knew that he would eventually have to answer _that_ one, anyway.

"I wasn't fully awake yet at the time, and thought I saw something," he lied. "Something from my dream," he hastily filled in, trying to soothe his conscience with one more kernel of truth.

"Ah," said Hans, looking at the dresser where the mirror once stood, thoughtfully placing a hand to his chin for a moment, then took a seat on the side of Ansem's tidied-up bed to continue their conversation. "I'm just glad that you didn't need any stitches. Though, I _am_ a bit jealous; Chicks dig men with cool scars," he jibed.

Ansem rolled his eyes to humor him, but scarring had not even occurred to him until now. Great; After all was dreamed and done, the night still hadn't managed to pass without changing his face forever. His heart sank to new and profound depths, but equally much he realized that it was his own fault (for how carelessly he handled the broken glass) and that he was going to have to live with it no matter what. As if getting stuck looking like a mummy for a few days wasn't bad enough! Already, he was formulating plans in his head to lay low until the bandages could be taken off. Too many people would want him to repeat and repeat and repeat the tales of how he ended up in this state, which was, frankly, embarrassing.

"Hay, think you could have someone bring me a lunch?" he asked, finally answering to the complaints of his stomach.

"Sure thing, but I hope you don't just plan on hiding here all day."

"What if I do?" Ansem grumped.

"Well, then I shall have to think of something suitable," Hans assured slyly. "Also don't forget you still have lessons today."

"Oh yeah. Dangit." For Ansem, a sense of reality and the daily grind was slowly beginning to come back to him, which was kind of refreshing, but also suddenly made the day feel like a Monday after a long vacation, even though it was actually a Thursday in the middle of a holiday dry spell. He didn't want to do any work, but maybe that was exactly what he needed.

"Guess I'll get going," Hans finally said after a time, and stood up abruptly. Just as he was about to close the door behind himself, he hollered back over his shoulder, "I hope you like boiled sheep eyes and deep fried bird feet!"

"You know me," shrugged Ansem plainly. He saw Hans shake his head to himself as the door sealed up behind him, as if he'd been thinking, 'Man, tough crowd today.'

Alone again, Ansem needed burn off some energy; He jumped up from his armchair and paced a few turns in agitation. He wanted to see his bandages again, if only to make sure that he wasn't going to end up like another dang Phantom of the Opera; But alas, he was fresh out of a looking glass in here.

He thought back to before the incident at the mirror, recalling how badly he had wanted to know what symbolic meaning the first dream had probably held. Perhaps he had already known what it meant, for the translation was simple and literal, but he was uncomfortable with it and so sought long and hard for a differing interpretation that would help him convolute, and so deny, the obvious... Ansem came to a halt in his steps.

"Which is _what_, exactly?" he asked himself aloud, unconsciously lifting a hand to his chin like his brother had done. He drew a mental blank. But a moment later, Ansem chuckled quietly under his breath. "...That I need a therapist," he concluded, and dismissed the whole train of thought.


	2. The Godmother

Chapter 2: **The Godmother**

Ansem wasn't sure weather to cope with his experience by reading more and solving his problem head on, or by burying it and trying to forget it altogether. So, he tried a little of both, and wrote the two dreams out on paper, then hid them in a deep corner of his files where _theoretically_ he would someday revisit them, but secretly knew that he never actually would. Whatever works, right? He tried to write about what happened in the mirror as well, but lost his nerve every time he sat down to do it; Just imagine if somebody else found these papers! The dreams were bad enough, but alas they were just dreams, hardly credible evidence of madness...right?

Ansem didn't like having these kinds of secrets, he discovered.

They let him stop wearing bandages sooner than first prescribed, much to Ansem's rejoice. For some reason, the sight of raw scratches drew less attention than the sight of what was needed to properly care for them; Shouldn't people focus more on wounds that _need_ treatment, rather than ones that have already had everything possible done for them? Or was a big white square just too tempting? he pondered moodily. Tender, pink scar tissue had already formed, so there was no doubt anymore about weather he might get lucky.

"They'll fade with time," his mother assured him, but that still didn't make him happy.

Funny, he didn't see any of these marks on the face of his 18 year old self in that one dream; Maybe that meant it couldn't possibly be the future, after all. In fact, this thought consoled Ansem more than any sympathy he'd received so far.

"And, uh, you know," started Hans, keeping his voice low, one night, "if you're going to be that way about it, there's always makeup."

"Thanks a lot," Ansem retorted with a pug-ish sort of scowl, childishly offended.

"Just trying to help," his brother said airily.

The next day, Ansem didn't see his brother hardly at all, which was odd since Hans particularly liked to socialize. But the next day after that, Ansem was suddenly surprised to see Noctis Lucis Caelum come running into the library looking for him.

"Hay!" said Ansem, putting down a favorite book to greet his friend. "When did you get here?"

"About 20 minutes ago. We're staying through till Saturday," Noctis exclaimed, meaning his mother and father and he. His father, Mort Aufero Caelum, was the archduke serving under King Freyr, Ansem's father.

Noctis was the same age as Ansem, 14, and since their parents worked together, the two had known each other literally since infancy. His hair color was an unusual "light black" that was really best described, rather, as graphite blue, and he tended to style this wild hair of his in short, feathery spikes, like he thought he was some kind of rock star. But the fact is, he really was that cool; He was an ace fencer, hated being popular but was anyway, and a daredevil to boot.

"Oh, and before I forget," Noctis said, straightening up like he meant real serious business, "Your brother wants us to meet him in front of the house with a big boat on its roof today after lunch." His pretense of pomp then melted away like a mirage of water in the desert, as Noctis shrugged and admitted that even though that's what Hans said, he had no idea what it meant or what Hans was up to.

"Well, if he's serious about the landmark, that meeting place shouldn't be too hard to spot. Can't say I've ever noticed it before, though," Ansem said.

"Dude, what happened to your face?" Noctis interrupted.

Ansem narrowed his eyes and frowned at him. "Harpies attacked me," he replied sharply.

"Ooooh," said Noctis, pretending like he believed him.

"Yeah, it was real nasty. I was eating a sandwich and one just flew down and tried to take it, right out of my hand!" continued Ansem, rubbing-in the absurdity of his fib; Anything to avoid giving the real answer. "So, uh, what have you been up to these past few months?"

"Oh, a lot of stuff! We had this guest come in in my sparring class last week and show us some stuff. I can show you while I'm here if ya like. I need to practice anyway, so I don't forget it all," he rambled, breaking out into a typical fencing pose and pretending to fight an invisible opponent through the library. He seemed to really be enjoying himself.

"Sounds awesome; Can't wait," said Ansem.

Learning to duel was a traditional requirement of the royal family from generations ago, namely because a sword was used as a symbolic gesture in many of the ceremonies a king had to perform. The premise was that it would be silly, even a dishonor, and above all dangerous, for a ruler to use a sword in such a way and not even know its proper use. Even though since the kingdom of Hollow Bastion's union with Tenebrae some-80-odd years ago, the only other remaining kingdom left in this tiny world at the time, there had not been a single war.

Noctis and Ansem spent the remainder of the morning in the courtyard trying to shoot each other with rubber bands, running about ducking behind the walls and hedges, until finally Ansem accidentally fell into a water fountain and they both got in trouble. Afterward, they grabbed some lunch, and then ventured beyond the castle into the city to try and find Hans.

"You'd think a boat on somebody's roof would stand out, or something," said Noctis, standing on top of a large wooden shipping create at the top of a hill to get a better view of the blue-gray stone-laid streets ahead.

"Maybe we're looking for a bait shop?" proposed Ansem.

"Nah, Hans specifically said it was a _house_," Noctis said, hopping down.

Just then, however, a loud, rhythmic commotion suddenly broke out behind them on the next street corner, down by the park. Spinning around, they found it to be a street performer with nearly a dozen different, junky-looking musical contraptions strapped all over his body. He was hopping around and kicking his feet, flapping his arms and tilting his head, every which motion that he made would somehow strike or compress a bellows to blow into one of his instruments-a one-man band! The performer himself was tall and skinny, with short dark hair and smudges of dirt on his face. He wore a casual black suit with its jacket unbuttoned and leather patches on its elbows, and old but still good black leather town shoes. His smile as he played for the gathering crowd was bright and above all _youthful_, reminiscent of someone who had grown older but never completely grown _up_.

The two boys drew closer before the crowd got too thick and they wouldn't be able to see. Though the instruments weren't very well tuned and mostly just clattered together while the man danced, he was so energetic and charismatic that one couldn't help but enjoy the show. Well, unless you were that cop standing way in the back by the park's entrance; But he didn't look like he ever enjoyed much of anything.

Ansem was particularly fascinated by the unusual rigging of the instruments themselves, and wondered if the man had designed everything personally.

Finishing his first song, the man then started another in which he also sang. And then, on concluding that, began to single out members of the audience and improvise rhymes about them. Spotting Ansem and Noctis, whom of course everyone in the kingdom could recognize on sight, the man suddenly beamed and said,

"Why, your Highnesses, this is an honor to be sure! Such guests, I can't say, I've had the pleasure to entertain before," as he tipped his newsboy hat to them, and made no delay to begin another fast-paced dance number. The crowd applauded when he finished, and the man bowed several times with his hat held out for tips while they dispersed.

"You young fellas lookin' fer some'n?" he asked, noticing that they seemed lost. He had a strong cockney accent, but was very polite.

"Uh, yeah, actually. We're supposed to meet my brother Hans at _'the house with a boat on its roof'_," Ansem answered.

"Are yeh now?" said the man. "I know just the place you're talkin' about. Right this way, please. Just past the corner o' Cherry Tree Lane, it is. Not far from 'ere at awl." Even as he walked, the large drum and symbols on his back continued to strike, since they were each rigged to his legs respectively such that it could not be helped.

"_**BOOM**__...CRASH...__**BOOM**__...CRASH...__**BOOM**__..._" they went, all the way down the street. Until, at last, the three came upon a sharp, whitewashed three-story manner with an obvious naval disposition, including full sails on its roof and even a small crew-in full uniform.

"Gentlemen, this 'ere is my good friend Admiral Boom," said the performer to the two boys. "How yeh doin' up there today, Admiral?" he suddenly bellowed at the men on the roof. "Lovely fine weather we're 'aving!"

"On the contrary, my good fellow. 'Storm's brewing in the East, temperatures declining in the West; It'll be hailing by tomorrow!" a blue-uniformed man in a white officer's hat bellowed back, leaning over a heavy, polished wooden railing that encircled his house's roof, which looked anyways like it had been built of parts dismembered from a fine old sailing ship. In fact, it even came equipped with a dinghy suspended over one side, which two elderly crew members were sitting in to wash the exterior of the house's upper-story window panes.

"T'anks for the 'eads up, Sir! Keep me posted! The Admiral keeps a close oye on the weather _at awwwl __times_, 'e does," the man explained, emphatically. "Some o' the finest nautical instrumentation in the w'ole navy, 'e 'as. Admiral! 'Ave you seen Prince Hans around 'ere by any chance?"

"On the way now, I'd say! Just turning the corner of Brook Street and Fenrir Avenue. Estimated arrival in three minutes and twenty-one seconds!" said the sailor, peering through a brass spyglass and checking a chart that the three couldn't see from their low vantage point with a navigational compass.

The boys' escort tipped his hat appreciatively. "Bless yer heart, Sir," he hollered. Just then, Noctis spoke up, unable to hold his curious amazement back any longer.

"Excuse me!" He yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth to direct the sound. "But, why not live in a real ship? Why go to the trouble of turning your house into one?" Anyone more prim and proper would have thought his questioning rude, but the friendly performer and whimsical old eccentric actually commended him.

"Your Highness, you may put your mind at rest. The sea I do love, but alas, the sea does not love me. When I was a younger man, it and I were on better terms. But now how am I to stable myself on the surf with a metal pin in my leg?" the admiral said, indicating one of his kneecaps. "Crushed by the weight of a cannon that broke loose in a typhoon, and reconstructed compliments of Dr. Sid of the Academy. As good a job as can be done by human hand, but not enough I'm afraid to send me sailing again."

"Oooooh," said Noctis, exaggerating his facial expression and body language so that the admiral could see his response. By this time, they could now see Hans walking toward them from half a block away.

"Well, it's been lovely meetin' you young sirs. Best be on my way now. Come aroun' this way again some time; I'll be 'ere," the tall man said, and tipped his hat to them again as he walked off, instruments still booming and ringing, then once more at Hans as the two passed on the street. Of course, Hans' first question as soon as he came within speaking range of the boys was,

"Who was that?" and gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.

Noctis just shrugged his shoulders, and Ansem shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "Someone who happened to know the way. _Jolly nice chap in fact_," he added, impersonating the man's accent with a grin. Noctis and Ansem began to walk alongside Hans, and bid farewell to the Admiral as they left.

"So, where are we going?" Ansem asked his brother, who lead the way in a manner that was clearly keen on a particular destination.

"To meet someone. It'll all become clear when we get there," Hans said, nodding his head once to the side. "You've met her at lest once before, when you were still a baby."

"Is she pretty?" Noctis interrupted suddenly, having picked up on the feminine pronoun.

Hans laughed. "She's...a _few_ years older than you," he said.

But Noctis insisted, jokingly, "That's ok; I'll get older! She's hot, isn't she..."

Hans rolled his eyes and smiled. "_So immature_," he muttered under his breath specifically so that Noctis would overhear. Noctis, falling silent, dealt the prince a glare so scathing that it could have roasted through a live fowl; Fortunately, Hans had not even been looking, but continued to smile slyly down the road.

He was a fair, wiry youth of 16 with sharp, gray-blue eyes and a long, diamond-shaped face. He conducted himself mildly and casually at all times, weather at formal occasions in the castle, or walking about and mingling with the commonfolk of the city; Being royalty, naturally guards would follow the two princes everywhere, be it to the ends of the earth, or simply waiting outside the door of a restroom, but they had orders to remain discreet and in disguise. When all other amusement failed, however, the princes would resort to testing them. Noctis, not technically a prince although still a son of one of the highest royals, did not regularly have this kind of guarded freedom in his hometown, Niflheim, and Ansem noticed that he, from time to time, gazed with evident wonder at the the small, homely shops that they passed.

In contrast with his spiky steel-blue hair, Noctis' angled, light brown eyes appeared almost yellow-ish, and so granted him a catlike deviousness whenever he smiled. He was thin for his age, probably due to a metabolism as active as he was! He wore a hooded, white, long-sleeved shirt with large, intricate, gray flame patterns printed across the tops of its shoulders, black capri pants with chord drawstrings at the ends of its legs, and plain white sneakers with red soles that fastened with velcro.

Like his brother, Ansem had a long, diamond-shaped face, except that his cheekbones were notably higher and his eyes a more pure blue. His straight, dark brown hair had been styled short in back, but left long in front his ears, with his bangs cut in an M-shape so that both of his eyes were visible. Since one week ago, however, Ansem had been brushing his hair more forward than usual to try and hide his new stigma. There were two bold, parallel scars underneath his left eye that slanted steeply towards the corner of his jaw, a smaller, horizontal one just under that eyebrow, three or four medium-bold linear scars scribbling every-which-way around his right eye, and one more small one that even crossed onto the right side of his nose. Indeed, it really did look like he had been attacked by something with claws. Ansem was still shorter than Hans, though it was an easy guess that, one day, he might even grow to be several inches the taller of the two. He wore a hunter green, long-sleeved button-down shirt, unbuttoned, over high-collared black tanktoop that was trimmed with royal blue and a small amount of white and yellow. His black jeans were actually a hand-me-down pair of Hans'.

Yes, even princes sometimes had to wear hand-me-downs. The king and queen were reasonably frugal people. Queen Zoe particularly, because she had been raised in a small beach town on the far side of the western mountains, known as Haruka Town, where importing goods was not without some difficulty. In fact _because_ of its seclusion, Ansem's great-grandparents had built a vacationing home on a hillside very near there, which was eventually how Freyr and Zoe came to meet. The house had grown old-fashion as times changed, but was kept in good condition for even Hans and Ansem had stayed there many times throughout their lives. Fortunately, somehow, _nothing_ in Haruka Town ever seemed to change, which allowed Zoe a potent nostalgia of her girlhood whenever they returned. Her sister, Ivy, even still lived there, raising her own family.

At long last, Hans finally came to a stop some ten or fifteen minutes of walking later, in front of a gray-white stone building that looked like it could possibly be a prestigious elementary school. It was hard to miss, but the rout there had been so full of twists and turns that Ansem and Noctis couldn't even tell where they were anymore, save for the position of the castle itself, for it was visible from every point in the city it loomed over. Most notably, the elegant complex before the three had around a broad tower in its center a giant, huge, enormous floating, golden ring of metal, smithed not unlike the elaborate front gate of an old mansion. How it managed to remain in the sky, unattached to any support, and slowly rotating to boot, was a mystery to Ansem entirely. He had seen this building before from windows in the castle, but never up close until now.

Hans explained that this was the esteemed Radiant Garden Orphanage, headed by Edea and Cid Kramer.

Well, Ansem for one had never heard of it, but he thought it was a beautiful place. Hans still wouldn't explain who it was they were going to meet here.

There was a high cement wall that encircled the property like a C, forgoing an entrance gate for a wide paved walkway that lead straight in through the glass front double doors. Hans lead Ansem and Noctis in, and then talked to one of several blue-uniformed women who were seated behind a long, bowed service desk. The young woman seemed shocked by their presence, even flustered, but kept her cool and paged an escort for Hans.

Getting to know new people was tough enough as nature would have it, but when you're something of a celebrity and everyone you meet already knows _you_, but _you_ don't know _them_, not only is it creepy, but automatically turns even the simplest engagements into all kinds of awkward. You were really only safe with other celebrities, who could at least empathize, was how Ansem felt. Not that he was snobbish or anything, just thought that maybe _exchanging_ autographs with one another, if dealing with them at all, was better than only giving yours out. (Especially when a young girl would ask for his autograph, Ansem wondered what people actually did with them later, and shudder as he reminded himself that he was probably happier not knowing.)

Presently, a teen in a similar blue uniform arrived and introduced himself, speaking extremely formally.

"We've been expecting you," he said, with a rigid chin and almost no emotion, but his flickering eyes gave him away.

"At ease, soldier," Hans said, saluting him. "You're scaring the kids."

Noctis yelled, "Hay!" and Ansem, too, scowled at his older brother, who wasn't even that much older than him.

The youth continued to speak formally, but relaxed more. He might have even been the same age as Hans, or possibly a year older, but no more. He lead them to an elevator, and took them all to the third and topmost floor. After depositing them in a spacious and vacant office, he was just about to close the door behind himself when he paused, and, completely breaking character, leaned his head back in to quickly ask if it was true there were ghosts in the castle dungeon; It was for a school paper that he was writing on urban legends and their origins.

"Well, if there are, then I've never met one," Hans told him, plainly.

"Hmm... Thanks," the teen said, his cheeks starting to redden, and finally left.

But, had Ansem been doing the talking, he knew how differently he might have answered, a sudden flashback of the demon in the mirror that night occurring to him.

"Hay, you okay?" Noctis asked, sounding concerned. "Maybe I should go get that guy before he gets too far. You're white as a ghost!"

Hearing Noctis and turning around to face them, Hans, too, started to look worried. He gave Ansem a long, hard look for a second, and then asked, sounding thoughtful, "Is there something you want to tell me?"

Ansem shook his head, striving to act normally again. "No," he said, easily, for it was utterly true; For good measure, he tried to make eye-contact, but that alone was a world of difficulty. "My feet just hurt," he complained, which was also true.

"They should be here any moment," Hans assured, not but semi-convinced as he went back to watching the door; Even for princes, it was only basic etiquette to not seat oneself before his host has arrived.

In the meantime, Noctis passed the time by telling them about another friend of his who recently broke his arm in a stunt that involved roller-blades, a diving bored, and a trampoline, and how many peopled had signed his cast with, "That was awesome!".

But, even while Hans still had a hand over his face and was shaking his head in dismay, the door of the office opened and a young couple stepped in. The man wore a red sweater-vest over a white collared shirt and tie, brown slacks, and black dress shoes. He had wavy brown hair parted in the middle, and an incredibly big chin. The lady, whom he held the door for, wore a modest black dress and black low-heeled shoes. She had long ebony hair down to her waist, and wore black evening gloves that nearly came up to her shoulders. She was extremely pretty, (which Noctis seemed to notice), and appeared to be about 24. There were one or two slight oddities, though, that made the back of Ansem's neck prickle: the woman's fingers were inhumanly long, and came to sharp points at their tips. The long gloves made this more difficult to notice, which he figured was probably why she wore them. There were also silver-white markings at the corners of both of her eyes that looked like raised veins, or bolts of lightning, or maybe burn scars that had long healed, except that the patterns were identical on each side. Though normal-seeming enough at first glance, after a moment she started to seem, rather, a very strange creature. The slow way she walked, as well, was fairly unnatural, with her footsteps making utterly no sound at all.

"Sorry to keep you boys waiting," said the man, smiling at the sight of them and then whispering something to his wife, who smiled too and nodded her head.

"Not at all," said Hans, who walked over and shook hands with him, then with a curt bow kissed the lady on the back of her hand, completely ignoring its frightening skeletal likeness.

"Ansem," Hans called. "You probably don't remember them. This is Cid and Edea Kramer."

"Uh, how do you do?" said Ansem, coming forward and nodding to each of them.

"I don't know if Mom and Dad ever told you," Hans continued, "but Edea is our godmother. She's a sorceress."

_That's it!_ Ansem thought, now able to explain what his senses were telling him. He could tell it was true; He didn't need to hear about it twice. What surprised him more was actually the first thing that Hans had revealed.

"We have godparents?" Ansem asked, suddenly turning his head toward his brother.

"Uh, yeah," Hans laughed. "But, uh, he he, I forgot who our godfather is. You'll have to ask mom for that info."

Noctis, probably feeling like a 'fifth wheel' by this time, had made himself comfortable in a chair against the wall. He kept silent as he fidgeted, but continually smiled to himself with a dreamy look in his eye.

"Your brother has told me you were injured recently. If you will let me see, I think I can help," said Edea to Ansem, her black, pointed hands folded gracefully in front of her. "I have some [magical] healing ability."

"Golly," Ansem caught himself saying, raising a hand to scratch the back of his head. ("So this is what you've been up to!" he mumbled at Hans.) Suddenly Ansem felt a warm feeling begin to rise in him like a new sun, outshining yet a second feeling that also crept in like a mist: apprehension. But why should he dread such a favor? It felt like there might be something he was forgetting, but alas he could not put his finger on it. "Uhhh, thank you! I'd really appreciate anything you could do. ...I was starting to forget who I was."

"No kidding!" Hans interjected. "He's been acting strange all week."

The sorceress laughed gently. "Is that so? Then, we haven't a moment to loose," Edea said, extending her clawed hand in an invitation to follow, "Please come with me, Prince Ansem. I require more light."

They stepped outside the office and followed the hallway a short ways until the two came upon a balcony. From here, one had a magnificent view of the Castle, as well as mountainous views, for few buildings in the city below were more than two stories high, of either the sunrise or sunset depending on the season of year-sunrises in winter, and sunsets in summer. The shape of the orphanage itself also allotted for a strong breeze, even on windless days, through the third floor when its windows and balcony doors were left open. Now that they were outdoors, the sorceress, who was fairly tall, stood very near to Ansem and gently lifted his chin with her left hand so that he had to look almost straight up at her.

"Now, let me see," she said, softly, using her right hand to stroke his hair back over the top of his head and so out of the way of his scars. A sad, motherly look entered her deep brown eyes. "How awful," she mused, barely above a whisper.

Ansem had surely thought he would shiver if those hands ever touched him, but Edea's hands were as soft and warm as her very heart seemed to be. He could tell just by how she cradled his face-if there was _anything_ sinister about this woman, then, by George, Ansem's dad must have been Kermit the Frog!

On second thought, Ansem's face began to tingle slightly, more, and more, like a million tiny electrical shocks such as one receives from shuffling their socks along a carpet. It worried him, not because he didn't trust his godmother, but because he didn't understand her power. Still, he tried as hard as he could to hold as still as possible, lest he flinch and himself cause her to make a ghastly mistake! In fact, Ansem almost wouldn't even allow himself to breathe.

This went on for several minutes, or so it seemed to him, waiting with his eyes closed. Then, at last, the tingling phased briefly into a searing-cold sensation, like when mouthwash spills on skin-which made Ansem yelp and jerk away in spite of himself-before fading away entirely. When the prince opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was the sorceress smiling, as though satisfied.

"Is that it? Am I back to normal?" Ansem asked, reaching up to feel his cheek with one hand.

"Come and see," Edea said, offering her strange hand to him once more. His former prejudice dashed, Ansem took it and anxiously returned with her to the office where the others were waiting. Entering, the pair found Noctis and Cid sitting deep in conversation with one another, about what Ansem could only imagine, with Hans leaned against the wall just casually listening in. Cid and Noctis continued, merely glancing up at them, but Hans strode over to meet them.

"So, how'd it go?" he asked, bending over Ansem to get a better look in the low light. "_Nice_... Really, _very_ nice," he said. "You do good work, milady."

Ansem, being made to feel like a spectacle, mumbled, as low as he thought he could and still be heard by someone six inches from his face, "Your breath...smells like eel. (And don't get me started on that expired cologne.)"

Hans chuckled, ending in a small cough that sounded oddly like the word, "Cheeky."

Toward the back of the room, there was a large, gold-framed oval mirror that hung on a wall above a narrow wooden table, which otherwise sported nothing except a bronze vase of red roses. Edea pointed it out to Ansem, and then fell back into his wake, with Hans, as her patient took over the lead.

The first thing Ansem noticed in his reflection, however, and to the effect of some minor shock, was that his hair had stuck the way Edea had stroked it. He tried to pat it down again, and succeeded reasonably, but now it seemed that its natural direction had changed, giving him a widows-peak where he hadn't before if he insisted that his bangs come down. This wasn't too bad a glitch, because, as a mater of fact, Ansem kind of liked this new look. At any length, Edea had done a fine job, and all of the scars from that horrible night were wiped clean. Ansem could still find a few very, very old ones from years ago that yet remained, now slightly more faded than before, but he considered those 'natural' and thus could live with them. It wasn't cosmetic value nearly as much as Hans seemed to think.

"Wow..." he breathed, running his fingertips over where the wounds had been. "This is amazing. Thank you very much, Edea!"

"You are most welcome, my dear prince," she replied, graciously. "But have more care next time. Please do that for me; I would rather not see you hurt again."

"Oh yes, _absolutely_," Ansem said, turning about to face them. Wondering how she knew the cuts were his own fault, as opposed to, say, having had his head glommed onto by a frightened cat, he began again, "But...has Hans told you what happened?" Edea and his brother exchanged glances.

"Only that you'd had a nightmare, and don't like to talk about it," the sorceress said, sounding sad again.

"Why don't I just let you two talk?" Hans said, excusing himself and heading over to where Cid and Noctis were still engaged.

Edea waited for Hans to be out of earshot, and then said, "Ansem, if you _would_ like to talk, as a sorceress I have an expertise in dreams. And, to be honest, I'm worried if you saw something strange in a mirror."

Ansem suddenly went pale, apparently more than enough confirmation for Edea, who's countenance saddened all the more. He couldn't verbally answer, although he desperately wanted to divert the subject.

"If you don't want to tell me, I can also read your mind," she suggested.

"No thank you," Ansem managed to say. He had lost all taste for knowing what any dream meant. It was a hard lesson learned. But, he did have an idea.

"Very well," said Edea, "I understand."

Ansem doubted that, but ventured to propose a different favor she might be able to help him with. "Umm, do you think...maybe...can you stop me from dreaming ever again?"

This surprised the sorceress, who even gave a quiet laugh and shielded her smile with a floating, gloved hand. "Surely you don't mean that?" she asked him.

"Oh, I think I do," Ansem said, dropping his gaze to the marble-tiled floor. "If you can..."

"I don't know, I've never tried," Edea said. "Nor am I about to, but I will give you my blessing, which should none the less help if ever you find yourself in the dark."

Ansem shrugged, not even trying to hide his disappointment, not that he actually expected she would have done it. "Sure, if you like," he told her.

His godmother laughed again. "That I do," she said.


	3. A Walk in the Park

Chapter 3: **A Walk in the Park**

As Ansem, Hans, and Noctis left the orphanage, a strong wind began to blow and the sky became overcast. Perhaps the Admiral had been right about the weather. The next morning, however, all signs of any storm had vanished inexplicably.

Ansem's mother had been moved to tears when Hans explained that they went to go see Sorceress Edea, and she buried her youngest in her arms at the first sight of him healed.

"Do you know why your father and I chose her to be your godmother?" she asked the two boys. When they both shook their heads no, Zoe explained that there were, in fact, many other people throughout the land of Hollow Bastion who had special powers. For the most part, these people were benevolent. But every one in a few was not. Of those who were malevolent, none of which ever grew powerful enough to become a threat to society or to the monarchy, except for one woman about 30 years ago.

"They say she was born of darkness itself," Zoe told them. "But Edea has told me that is unlikely. She thinks that Maleficent may have been human once, like herself."

"I think I've heard that name before," Hans said, thoughtfully, but Ansem raised his shoulders with a blank stare.

"I know you have, Hans, but I'm surprised that you remember!" Zoe exclaimed. "You weren't even a year old. Like when Ansem was born, your father and I threw a ball so that everyone in the kingdom could come and see you. Everyone was invited. Even the Three Good Fairies put in a brief showing to grant you [both, on separate occasions] gifts of strength, love, and wisdom. But then Maleficent showed up. She was offended that we hadn't actually extended the invitation to _her_, and tried to curse you, Hans."

"No way," Ansem said, very quietly. Having seen Edea's power, he was definitely afraid of such things now. Hans, too, appeared disquieted, but said nothing.

"But then a young orphan girl stepped out of the crowd and challenged Maleficent. Edea was only nine years old at the time. I can't even fathom the courage that must have taken. Unbeknown to anyone but herself until that day, she had been given the powers of a sorceress four years earlier, when she was only five! But, from that day forward, everyone in the kingdom knew, for right here in this castle and before witnesses, Edea defeated Maleficent in one-on-one magical combat."

"No way," said Ansem, again, this time highly impressed, and fighting a smirk.

"Seriously?" Hans asked, evidently equally if not even more astonished.

"Seriously," Zoe repeated. "She's a national hero. At first your father and I weren't sure about naming her godmother because she was so, so young, but we learned that, even then, all she ever cared about was looking after others. Edea hasn't changed a bit; She's always had such a big heart."

"Wow," was their consensus.

Hans was busy all the rest of the day with tutoring and whatnot, so Ansem and Noctis were left to their own devices for amusement. Noctis showed Ansem some of the fencing moves that he promised, and then (for Noctis' sake) the two went back out into the city to find more things to do. They explored alleyways in search of a good hideout, and then sampled a curious little ice cream shop.

They even payed a second visit to Admiral Boom to ask his opinion of the turn in the weather. The poor man was beside himself. Not once in all his life had his predictions ever been wrong, until the day he had to tell a prince! It was here, while passing the park, that the two happened to come across the tall skinny performer again, only today he was a chalk artist.

"Your drawings are very good," Ansem told him, looking over a long row of pavement slabs with colorful depictions of a fairground on them.

"Well, I'm pleased as punch you like them, yer Hoy'ghness," the man said in his characteristic accent. "Moy name's Bert, by the way," he added, finally looking up from the new picture he was just finishing. He tilted his head slightly and pointed a blue and green finger at Ansem as though he could tell the prince was up to some kind of mischief. "Now I con't put me finger on it, but dere's somethin' differen' about you."

Noctis, however, deftly selected that time to butt in. "Sorceress Edea gave him a makeover!" he summarized, loudly, from ten-feet away.

"Yo, Noct!" Ansem said, snapping his head around to fire a glare at the blue haired boy. "Watch it," he warned, but Noctis didn't pay him any attention. Though Ansem was technically ranked a higher status than Noctis, his parents just let them tease each other like regular kids, and get full well away with it.

Bert chuckled as he started to sketch the background of another drawing on a new tile of cement. "A sorceress yeh say?" he mused, perfectly content in his work, "Kind o' reminds me o' someone _I_ know."

Biting his tongue, the man began to sketch an outline of a young woman's face. She wore her long brown hair up under a black hat decorated with fake cherries around its brim, and she had very pretty eyes and a pretty smile with perfect teeth. He explained that every one of these pictures he was drawing came from his memories, and were once real people and places; Some landscapes were from his boyhood and had changed a lot over the years, to be seen as they were now only in his artwork. Ansem and Noctis watched Bert work diligently on the portrait for several minutes, which he explained was just of an old, old friend of his.

He had just about finished when a shadow suddenly fell across it, and he had to stop. The three of them looked up at its caster, only to recognize her as the very face from the picture!

"Why, if it isn't Mary Poppins!" Bert exclaimed with a huge smile, standing up and taking his hat off. He had reached out to shake her hand, but no sooner retracted it and hastily wiped the chalk off on the front of his jacket, apologizing awkwardly under his breath.

"It's wonderful to see you, Bert," said the lady with lighthearted laugh.

It really was a striking resemblance between her and the drawing, Ansem thought. In fact, she even had the cherry hat on! _The man's a genius,_ he thought in wonder. Then again, he wondered just how long it had been since they'd last seen each other; Listening to them talk, one would think that it had been a lifetime! _The real mystery is, how old is that hat?_ he told himself, stretching his mind just to grasp their context; Something wasn't adding up.

"And while you're 'ere, let me introduce yeh to me new pals," Ansem heard Bert say, which suddenly awoke him from his pensive thoughts. "No doubt you already know who _they_ are, Ms. Poppins. Your Majesties," he said, turning to the two boys, "This is the one and only, Mary Poppins."

"How do you do, Ms. Poppins?" Ansem said, shaking her hand.

"Pleasure to meet you," said Noctis.

"Now I tell yeh, boys, you 'ad better keep yer oye on this one," Bert whispered to them, right in front of Mary Poppins as though she couldn't hear. "She's tricky. Why, when your wif 'er, the most _extraordinary_ fings begin to 'appen. An' sooner 'n you can say bob's your uncle, suddenly you're in places you never _dreamed_."

Mary Poppins gave Bert a look of disapproval, as though what he was saying was completely absurd. But Ansem knew better, and listened intently.

"In fact," Bert pressed on in spite of her, with a mischievous grin, "I wouldn' be surproy'sed if she was cookin' up some adventure for the two o' yehs right at dis _berry moment_. Whaddaya say, Marry Poppins? Perhaps a day at the beach? Or 'ow about a nice picnick in the countryside?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're saying," the woman said.

"Aww I don't know, maybe dese boys would like to go...puntin' down a river," he carried on, indicating one of his chalk drawings. "Wouldn'cha, lads? Or maybe yeh'd rather visit an exotic zoo," he said, walking over to yet another, "wif tigers and monkeys, and the biggest lizards you'll ever see aloy've!"

At the mention of lizards, however, Mary Poppins suddenly looked primed to faint.

"No? Alrigh' den, lets see 'ere," Bert said, browsing through the rest of his many artworks. Ansem and Noctis took a look through them, as well. There was a mountain-scape caped in thick green pines, a cityscape beneath a high, full moon, and even a circus scene, among several other wondrous illustrations.

"I think I like this one the best," Ansem said, pointing to a particular landscape near the middle of the row, depicting a wide stream twisting through an expanse of round hillsides and crossing under a yellow footpath with an arched bridged. Tall cypress tress dotted the hills, and the grass just seemed so darn green no matter which side of the picture you stood on to look at it from. A ancient willow tree stood in the foreground, casting sweeping dappled shadows on the ground, and the deep azure sky looked as tranquil as though the few nimbus clouds peppering the horizon might never, ever move. At first, Ansem had not particularly been drawn to this piece, but then after looking at all of the others found this one alone to appear serenely still; The rest were so busy; He could actually picture himself reading at the base of that willow for hours, and then probably dozing off under it. It sure beat any of the potential secret hideouts that he and Noctis had scouted out that day. (In which they were less likely to doze off in and more likely to hoard snack foods in and launch various "dangerous missions" from.)

Marry Poppins craned her head to have a look, apparently liking it as well, at least from the short distance where she stood. Bert also appeared over Ansem's shoulder and leaned on the long wooden pole he that he used as a drawing tool sometimes.

"_Bea_-uteeful, ain't it? A typical English countryside as done by a true and lovin' 'and. Now yeh con't see it, but there's a li'le coun'y fair jus' down dat road an' over the hill." Noctis alone had seemed entirely disinterested in the landscape, at least until Bert mentioned this. "Whadaya say, Marry Poppins? Just a _quick_ li'le visit is awl."

It seemed to Ansem that Bert could use a little help; He really had no idea what the man was getting at, but, frankly, he had a growing morbid curiosity that was starting to drive him crazy! "Please, Miss?" Ansem interceded.

"With all due respect, your Highness, I have no intention of making a spectacle of myself," Mary Poppins told him. She seemed like a very sweet lady over all, but boy could she be stern when she wanted to be!

And then Bert shot her a light look of defiance. "Awl roy'ght. I'll do it moy'self," he said, and clapped his hands together as one going to work, then leaned on them on his knees.

Well, if nothing else had gotten Marry Poppins' attention that day, that sure did. Her eyes shot wide open in surprise as she asked, "Do _what_?"

"A bit o' magic," Bert said with a boyish grin. He beckoned the two boys to his sides and had them each take his hand. "It's easy," he told them, then looked off into the distance as he seemed to be grasping to remember something. "Lets see. First you...wink." He winked.

But Ansem and Noctis just stared at him blankly.

"Come on, now, you two, yeh don't actually expec' me to do dis awl by meself now do yeh?" Bert said, and they reluctantly winked with him the second time. "Den you...double blink." All three blinked twice, exaggerating for good measure. "You close yer eyes...and jump!" he said, and all three of them hopped onto the chalk picture. At the occurrence of nothing, a ringing, awkward silence suddenly seemed to fill the air.

"Is something supposed to happen?" Noctis asked, his disinterested facade beginning to sour and become, even, a little sarcastic. Luckily for them all, what Marry Poppins said next must have made her his new hero.

"Bert, what utter _nonsense_!" she snapped, striding over. However, this instantaneous newfound respect all changed to complete puzzlement when she added, "Why do you _always_ have to complicate things that are really _quite_ simple?" Noctis soon found himself boxed in when she took his free hand, and glanced an almost pleading eye past Bert in Ansem's direction. "Three...two...one..." Marry Poppins counted, and they all jumped once more.

_Woah._

Suddenly the whole world became a colorful blur of motion. The trees and the other people suddenly disappeared, along with the other pictures and, momentarily, even the solid ground beneath their feet. It was like breaking through ice on the surface of a lake the very instant one steps out of a boat that was frozen in it. In a toxic puff of blue, green, and orange chalk dust, they had all shrunk and disappeared into the drawing.

Solid ground reappeared almost as soon as it had gone with a soft tap on the bottoms of their feet. Their hands let go, and inexplicably they found themselves not only covered in the colored dust, but all wearing completely different attire. Wherever they were now-in whatever cosmic pocket of weirdness-it seemed like they were even dressed the part! But, they had to brush the chalk off of themselves before they could even see what colors their new clothes were. (What's a proper adventure without a new, free, and perfectly fitting outfit, anyway?)

Ansem found that he was wearing a scarlet button-down shirt under a clean white suit, with a festively striped tie, and a crisply woven basket-hat with a flat brim. Both Noctis and Bert had very similar hats, but Noctis was wearing a powder-blue suit with cream pants, and Bert a colorful, orange and white striped suit with white pants. Noctis' suit seemed to very much emphasize the blue in his hair, just as Bert's suit seemed to be coordinated with the lacy, red and white dress that Mary Poppins suddenly had on. Seeing her like this was actually something of a shocker, because before she had been dressed all in black except for the ornamentation on her black hat. Now she looked-really, like an angel on her holiday, all strictness and dreary formality gone from her every move and spoken word.

Ansem considered himself, seeing how everyone else seemed to look so natural in their new duds. He had never particularly favored red, nor ever imagined himself to be the kind of guy who would wear a lot of white. Did this really suit him as well as the others' costumes suited them?

_Huh_, he thought, _You learn something new about yourself every day, I guess. Or at least, about how others perceive you._

Getting the green dust off his new whiteness was much, much too easy. It had to be magic, because that stuff would have stained a suit like this, no doubt, never again to be gotten off at all let alone brushed completely away with only a few strokes of the hand.

The cloud of colored powder that had arisen around them now settling to the ground as they finished preening themselves, the three young men began to look around at the new world that they were now in with awe and wonder. Indeed, the chalk picture Bert had drawn with his very own hand had come to life! He for one, however, seemed the least surprised, obviously since he had known Marry Poppins' secret, possibly for a good many years. For Ansem and Noctis, however, this was all just incredible. Noctis no longer seemed embarrassed at all, like being made a believer had freed him from social pressure to be cool and act like a grown up; The grown ups the two were with now seemed more childlike than even themselves!

Bert and Mary Poppins complimented each other on their looks, spinning around like two ducks sitting happily on a pond. The two boys, however, behaved a bit less seemly.

Noctis whispered to Ansem, "We look like a couple of mobsters."

Ansem laughed a little and grinned. "Hey, you're right. Kind of..." he said back. Checking himself over again, he put on a face that looked pretentiously businesslike, and gave the appropriate Italian-New York accent his best crack, "_Yo, sonny boy, ''ow 'bout I cut ya deal, huh? You rub my back, I'll rub yours_." Noctis nearly split his side laughing at him.

The world around them was strange-looking, very much cartoonish and hardly like what things and places really looked like. It had a 'flat' quality like mono-vision in the distance, but up close things still had some depth, even though items, animals, and plants all just looked like flat paper cutouts that had been miraculously brought to breathing life. At first it seemed strange to Ansem, but then after a few moments acclimatizing to the atmosphere, his feelings shifted to total acceptance; He noticed this, and wondered if even it too was part of the magic-to forget what the difference was. (Perhaps so that one could _completely_ live the the fantasy?)

"I thought you said there was a fair," Noctis reminded Bert, cutting right to the chase.

"So I did," said the man, emphatically agreeing with the boy. "It's jus' down that road and over da 'ill, remember?"

"Come on!" he called to Ansem, but Ansem wouldn't let himself be dragged away without first taking in a long, contemplative look at Marry Poppins.

_'There are many people in Hollow Bastion with special powers,'_ his mother had said, but never once had she even suggested what percentage of the population, or even just how many of these 'special' individuals she personally knew.

_This changes everything,_ Ansem thought. He could almost feel a tangible sensation of his understanding of the solid world speedily unraveling. _Can both this world and 'the Real World' be 'real' at the same time as one another? How are they connected? Or if they're not, then how was Marry Poppins able to bring us here? And didn't this world not even exist before Bert drew it? Or...maybe this is all just some kind of hallucination she has us trapped in, and we're all really still at the park laying on the ground in comas...nah, that doesn't seem characteristic._ He was pretty positive that he could judge her character right. That later most was a goofy idea, anyway, like something right out of a five-cent science fiction comic book.

"Ansem, come on!" Noctis hollered impatiently, practically dancing on the spot. Ansem had a slight hunch that his friend just wanted to get away, possibly for some reason along the lines of certain grown-ups crimping his style. Reluctantly tearing himself away from his deep thoughts for the time being, Ansem finally turned around and ran to catch up with him. But he hadn't finished with the subject quite yet, and fully intended to ponder it more later; Maybe even interrogate Marry Poppins if an appropriate conversation ever arose and he had a window. He also had a much stronger hunch that she would be an incredibly tough nut to crack.

_Then again,_ he thought, a shrewd idea occurring to him, _maybe I should ask Bert about her instead._ It's true that the man seemed more open to talk over details than his lady friend; Especially concerning magic, based solely on their brief episode at the park just now. _Yeah... I should do /that/._

"What's on your mind?" Noctis asked as they walked a little ways farther down the path. "You're quiet."

"I was just thinking," Ansem told him, absentmindedly biting one of his fingernails, "Two days...two sorceresses...and 48 hours ago I didn't even believe in fairies."

"Wild, isn't it?" Noctis responded with lighted eyes, as though possessed with an excitement like an electrical current that shined through his cool exterior. "I can't believe where we are!"

Ansem grinned a little, taking it all in. "Nor can I," he said.

He eyed the dirt of the path ahead as they walked. Did all possible locations in the drawing exist at once as inhabitable places within a unified stream of time, or did mere parts of the drawing spring to life only as they approached? He thought he could figure this out by watching the road ahead as they walked, by studying the pebbles' slow transformation from the mono-vision background into their paper-cutout foreground form; They _looked_ like paper cutouts, but if he picked up a stone from the earth and held it in his hand, it would turn out to feel quite round and weighted no differently from a 'regular' one. He'd hold it in his fingers and rotate it, and the outline would change, but the thing always looked inexplicably flat from his direct perspective.

"How queer," he mumbled, and chucked the stone as far as he could down the path, to watch it meld once more, in mid air, with the mono-vision distance. Sometimes the smaller ones could be seen only as black dots when they landed, but even those still made a sharp click upon striking the ground again, as though there had been nothing strange about them at all. To Ansem, this seemed to suggest a unified timeline in spite of appearances. That, and the fact Bert and Marry Poppins had taken a branch path that he and Noctis had already passed, and were now long out of sight.

They could hear the fair as they came to the base of the hill between them and it, most prominently the sound of a merry-go-round, and little else, actually.

"So, why don't you like her?" Ansem asked after a lull in their conversation, which kind of Surprised Noctis in a way. He corrected Ansem, shaking his head, but stammered, seemingly to hold both opinions of like and dislike toward the lady.

"No, no, I like her...enough. It's not that I don't. I just, ahh..."

Ansem thought maybe he'd help his friend out by prompting, "You liked Edea, and Marry Poppins seems to have more than just a little bit in common with her." He paused, considering that possibly the biggest difference, besides a nearly irksomely cheery disposition on Marry Poppins' behalf, was that the nanny (her profession, from what he had overheard) didn't care too well, not too well at all, to use her powers in front of other people. Then suddenly Ansem recalled some more of what his mother had said about Edea, that she'd kept her powers a complete secret for four years before being forced by circumstance to use them in public.

_Is there something wrong with that?_ he started to wonder, in reference to having 'special' powers. Maybe as a prince he just had a warped perspective, since even that, in a way, was 'special power' that, weather or not he liked it, he was going to have to deal with until the day he dies. _But what's not to like about having the ability to do magic?_

"I don't know," Noctis shrugged, "Maybe its just that I don't like her because I do like her. Does that make any sense?"

"So basically she's awesome but you'd rather not be seen with her. I got ya." Ansem said, elbowing his friend in the arm with a wink. He phrased it like he was kidding, of course, but knew there was a tiny bit too much truth in the statement, having known Noctis as long as he had.

Noctis shot him a sideways glare and pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes, as though he was a fictional super-villain and just marked Ansem down on his "I'll get you later for this," hit-list.

They entered the fairground and took a look around. It was incredibly, incredibly small, more like something isolated to a single neighborhood than spanning across a county, but it was nice. In fact, the whole atmosphere of the place had a very quaint, 'vintage' feel. Somehow, it even reminded Ansem of an antique music box like one might find in their grandmother's attic, retained from her own childhood. It was timeless.

There were only a few other people there, and all were vendors. The two boys were the only guests, it appeared, thus there were no lines for any of the rides, and all of the operators kindly waived the fares since they were running empty anyways. Tall, dark green trees closed the grounds in on three sides, rustling carelessly in the cool, fresh breeze, with the one open side yawning southward. The trampled grass was overgrown and moist beneath the boys' fancy white shoes, and-now this was odd-though the sky shone bright robin's egg blue, and an actual sun wasn't anywhere to be seen, and it certainly wasn't behind a cloud. Come to think of it, Ansem noticed, no one not even themselves were casting shadows on the ground.

To the contrary, he also noticed that Noctis' spiky hair still cast shadows on his face. This gave him the idea to place one of his hands over the other and alter their angle until the top one's shadow fell on his other gloved hand. He did this, and mentally drew a line between the shadow and his upper hand that extended straight to a nondescript point in the empty blue sky. That was most definitely where the source of light _ought_ to have been; Was it hidden behind the very blue itself?

First they tried some of the target-shooting games in the booth areas, keeping score from years past competing against one another at all manner of other fairs, of course, and then they moved on to some of the rides before planning to hit the hot-dog eating race. Once, about two years ago, they had tried that in reverse order, and it didn't work out so well. They were battle-hardened veterans now.

The whole time they were there, they had a joke going between that they were mafia men secretly checking the place out to see if the fair would work well as a temporary cover for their "secret operation".

When Marry Poppins and Bert caught up with them after about an hour or two, the two characters that Ansem and Noctis were pretending to be abruptly concluded that,

"Hay boss, the territory's gettin' a little too _hot_, if ya know what I'm sayin'."

"Yeah, I know what you're sayin', boss. We'd better keep our heads down if we don't wanna get them taken off be the _authorities_, if ya know what I'm sayin'."

"I know what you're sayin', boss."

They had tried to work out which one of them got to be the "boss" using all kinds of crazy technicalities ranging from their comparative scores at the galleries, to their inherited royal titles, to Ansem pointing out the fact that the biggest bad guy always wears the lightest colors, to Noctis reminding him that the whole game was practically his idea to begin with, anyway. Ultimately, they ended up reducing "boss" to a figure of speech, like how newsboys with strong British accents call everyone "governor".

"Been enjoyin' yerselves, I hope," Bert greeted them with, curtly tipping his hat, arm-in-arm with Marry Poppins who carried an open, white lace parasol over her other shoulder. "Jus' as I remember it," he said with a wide, nostalgic grin. "Yeh know, me ol' man used to own a ferris wheel fer a time, 'e did. Never made any money offa it so 'e 'ad to sell it, but it sure was a treat in moy oyes while it lasted." Bert seemed a bit glazed over for a moment after he said this, as though seeing in his mind's eye more than he was telling. Ansem daresay that he could even read a deep, mysterious sadness in the way Bert spoke and looked, nothing like how he'd ever seen the man act before.

"Is something wrong?" Ansem asked, absolutely meaning to pry.

"Oh nuffin'. Jus' got a bit o' somet'n in me oye is awl," Bert said, lifting a white-gloved hand to his face, which still somehow looked like it had dirt on it even though actually being quite clean; Probably just the way that shadows were prone to fall across it.

Ansem and Noctis quickly learned that Bert had some fierce skill with a beanbag, and kept challenging him to rematch after rematch back at the booths, before the three of them competed against each other when finally came time for the hot-dog competition.

Marry Poppins looked as though she thought the lot of them silly, stuffing their determined faces, while she sat alone at a small, white, round table in the grass off to the side of the competition, herself tasting from a mottled crimson snowcone in a white paper cup.

The hot dogs were actually pretty tasty, Ansem found, so scarfing them was easier than he'd expected; It _must_ have made the difference, because-he won! Marry Poppins set her cup on the table and gave them all a loud, slow, exaggerated round of applause, as if rather to congratulate them for what clowns they had made of themselves. After all, as they say, '_Boys will be boys, and some men will be, too!_'

Afterward, on a great whim of bravery, the three and Mary Poppins all boarded the merry-go-ground; Noctis thought of this as a rematch of sorts with Ansem, and calculated that because the prince had eaten the most, the other contestants having not bothered to finish their platters, he might begin with a small advantage over him.

Ansem just raised an eyebrow, and told the duke, "You're on."

Marry Poppins asked them not to antagonize each other, otherwise the two would have been yelling gross descriptions at one another through the bars of the carousel to try and unsteady each other. Even without the colorful narrations, poor Bert was slumped over his ornately decorated, yellow-painted, and probably hand-carved, wooden horse, clinging with white knuckles to its central pole, as green in the face as a seasick sailor.

Watching him struggle, Marry Poppins considered him, and then had a word with an elderly man in a bright red uniform who suddenly appeared in a window in the broad core pillar in the center of the merry-go-round.

_Where did that guy come from?_ Ansem wanted to know. He had thought there were mechanisms in there making the ride work, not an operator man-if he was in there, then where was the motor?

The elderly man cheerily obliged, calling Marry Poppins by name as though they'd met long before that day; He pulled a long, silver lever that was inside with him, and waved goodbye to them.

The elderly man cheerily obliged, calling Marry Poppins by name as though they'd met long before that day; He pulled a long, silver lever that was inside with him, and waved goodbye to them.

_Huh? Why is he waving?_ Ansem only had time to think, before suddenly he saw the reason. Marry Poppins' purple wooden steed had just flown off of the carousel, followed by Noctis' blue one, then he on his own green one, and finally Bert's. Bert was the most disoriented since he'd practically been slipping off of its side to begin with. The horses continued to bob up and down in the air, carrying their riders, without any apparent means of support; The four were carried on the wind, or by magic, out of the fairgrounds and into the open, untamed countryside. Ansem could for a short time still hear the operator man calling out who was leading, who was passing who, and more, as though the four of them had just kicked off in a derby race.

"This...is...unbelievable!" Ansem said, his horse practically taking flight. The more time passed and the more he tried to understand the event, let alone accept it, the more his amazed excitement swelled. Not that it should have, he thought, based upon the kind of week he'd already had until this point. And yet, his rational constantly rebelled in spite of his efforts to plain give up by now.

Noctis seemed like he was having an easier time believing, but on the other hand was completely spazzing out just over how "awesome" this was, yelling things like, "YEEHAW! Comin' through, pardner!" as if he was some kind of cowboy. Ansem chuckled inside his head, because he was still picturing Noctis as a mobster, and that was, after all, a merry-go-round horse; Quite a sight with all those elements thrown together. For once the boy seemed to have no shame.

Marry Poppins led the way, as at peace with events as though this sort of thing happened every day. Bert was the second least impressed. He straightened himself on his horse and eventually overcame his motion sickness. Looking around, he rode up beside Marry Poppins and commented,

"Very nice, very nice, indeed."

As their horses bobbed up and down, as they had done while still on the carnival ride but now without aid or support whatsoever, the central poles dragged under them and dug long trenches in the ground, like long dotted lines that marked their trail. One would have thought that this should slow them down, but it seemed to have no such effect, Ansem noticed. He was still gazing around starry-eyed when Noctis suddenly blew past him, presumably in a gallop, and announced loudly to them all that,

"My horse is the fastest!" in something of a challenge to the rest of them. To Ansem's surprise, Bert was quickest to take him up on it.

"Aww really, now," he said, squinting one eye, then said to his horse, "Yeh hear that, mate? You wanna put up wit' that? ...Tha's da ticket!" The horse bolted, but before either he or Noctis had gotten too far ahead, Marry Poppins spoke up.

"Not so fast, please!" Noctis may or even may not have complied, Ansem couldn't tell, but it just so happened that Bert reached over and caught his horse by the ribbon it had for reigns, slowing the both of them to a stop.

"Woah there!" he said. "Sorry, Marry Poppins. Jus' a bit o high spirits is awl. No 'arm done."

"_Please_ control yourself," Marry Poppins said to him, as she and Ansem caught up to the two renegades. "We are not on a racecourse. And as for you," she added, turning her head and giving Noctis a stern eye of disapproval. Whatever lecture he might have received next was sparred him, however, by a sudden sound in the distance that the four of them heard: a bugle followed by the barking and howling of a about a hundred dogs. The two adults turned to look, but from behind the other three Ansem saw Noctis slump over, or 'melt', from the relief of having her attention directed off of him. He wiped his forehead with the back of hist wrist, and caught Ansem's eye.

"Tsk tsk," Ansem whispered, shaking his head at the duke in mock scorn. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

Just then, a rustle in the grass could be seen in the direction of the noise as a small, red and white animal darted out of the woods across the stream from them. It halted atop a rock and watched over its shoulder for a second, until that bugle sounded again and the barking renewed. The creature clutched its through with both its paws and cried out, in plain English,

"Faith and begorrah! 'Tis them redcoats again!"

_The surprises never end, do they_, Ansem thought to himself, staring in awe at the fox. An entire English hunting party in close pursuit, it fled again, out into the open.

"Follow me please," Marry Poppins called to the others, and gracefully raced off in that direction. Ansem and Noctis exchanged glances with each other, for now she was going much faster than even the two trouble-makers had been going.

"Tsk tsk," Ansem mumbled again, and laughed quietly to himself.

"After you," Noctis said, but Ansem replied, "Ladies first."

"Well, yeh two con sit 'ere awl day if yeh loy'ke, but I'm goin' a help tha' li'le fella," said Bert, and charged off ahead of them both.

"Last one is a rotten egg!" Ansem jeered, charging after him.

At last the hunting party emerged out of the woods, a swarm of beagles first, and then no less than a dozen stately gentlemen with bristly gray mustaches and, bright red and gold uniforms, all riding cartoonishly fat horses of different, modest colors.

"View halloo!" the bugler cried, stopping and lifting a hand to his brow to shield the sun.

"Oh yes, definitely. A view halloo," his horse repeated.

_Whatever that means_, Ansem thought, now locked in a head-to-head race with Noctis. All four of the merry-go-round horses seemed to be capable of a much faster pace than the real horses were, because even with such a huge head-start on the four, the four overcame the hunting party easily. Then again, Ansem wasn't sure if their wooden mounts were even capable of breaking a sweat. Speaking of which, the fox's pursuers nearly fell off their steeds at the strange sight, as they passed. Bert caught up with the fox itself and hoisted it by its tail onto the back of his saddle. It was just as surprised as anyone by the enchanted object, but began to blow raspberries and aim insults at the dogs following behind them.

The chase continued until, in an unseemly display of aerial agility, each of the four adventurers cleared a twelve-foot high hedge, which the back of beagles tried to leap too, but all only got stuck with their heads buried in it. Marry Poppins was still well ahead of them in every turn they took, and had already joined up with a pack of derby racers who were heading straight for the three young men. Ok, now they were on a racecourse. Ansem couldn't figure this lady out, except to think that maybe she couldn't make up her mind between wanting to be good 'n proper all the time, or as wild and unruly as the rest of them on the worst of days.

The three skidded to an abrupt halt and were spun around like tops as the racers passed, many of their heads turning to ogle at the flying carnival sculptures. Until this point, Ansem had been doing pretty well keeping his prized lunch down, but boy now was he starting to feel it, and had to fight as hard as he could to keep it down. Which he managed to do, but only just barely. Noctis had recovered a bit more quickly than he had, and sped of after the pack. His horse must have become dizzy as well, because Ansem saw the beast drifting heavily to the right as it tried to catch up.

Ansem was also surprised to see that the two riders who were leading the pack neck-to-neck with each other both tipped their hats politely and parted to allow Marry Poppins to pass between them. The looks on their faces a split-second later seemed to say that they hadn't realized, until too late, that their chivalrous gesture had cost them both the first-place position. _Marry Poppins herself_ crossed the finish line before all. Ansem personally wouldn't have called it a fair race by any means, but the panel of spectators had spoken, and they accepted her victory.

Interestingly, the little fox didn't seem to mind at all, either. Nor did even Noctis, and that was strange. Bert gave no opinion on the matter, but non the less applauded alongside the crowd.

Half a dozen news reporters all suddenly descended upon her from out of nowhere, as a large wreath of flowers was strung around her horse's neck, and she herself was handed a matching bouquet.

"Thank, you," she chirped, smiling quite charmingly.

"How do you feel, Ms. Poppins?" one of the reporters asked, which became the single droplet that started the flood, as the other reporters started bombarding her with all very similar questions. She tried her best to quell them, but there were just too many being fired too fast.

"Please, please," she told them, blushing, if only to settle them so that at last she could speak. The last line to be heard before the ruckus died down was,

"There probably aren't words to describe your emotions," spoken by a tall, very thin old man in a black bowler hat, through a thick silver mustache that hid his whole mouth except for only his bottom lip and chin.

"Well, actually there's a very good word," she told him. "Am I right, Bert?"

The three were all seated on an elegant white bench in back of the crowd. A few moments before, a caramel-apple vendor had offered them each a free apple for having competed, but all three had had to politely refuse because they each felt like they'd just been through the rinse-cycle of one of those fancy new, automated clothes washers. The little fox, however, now sat on the ground beside them happily munching on the apple which it had been offered.

"You sure you don't want a bite?" it said to Bert, its new best friend for having saved its life from the hounds.

Bert waved his hand to say no, seemingly unable to open his mouth at the very suggestion of it, then returned to sitting with both hands on his knees just so that he wouldn't fall over. Of the three, he clearly faired the worst. Noctis and Ansem had given up competing, and just accepted that they were both simply lucky that they'd made it this far.

In answer to Marry Poppins' rhetorical question, Bert spoke up, "Tell 'em what it is," but quickly had to look down at the grass again, suppressing a sudden reflex.

"Right," she said, taking off her hat and frowning at Bert as if to say "I told you so". The hat, she hung on her saddle, where the umbrella that she had formerly been carrying still was. She inhaled a deep, deep breath, and then said, "!"

"Bless you, madam," one of the reporters said, innocently, looking over his pencil and paper notepad.

"I beg you pardon, miss?" another asked, politely.

"," Marry Poppins repeated, and continued to explain in detail the word's meaning and usage, which turned out to be really not all that extraordinary. Ansem noticed something odd about her explanation, though.

"Bert," he whispered, leaning past Noctis. "Is she _rhyming_ all that?"

"Why, yes indeed I think she is," he said, lifting his head to stare at her for a moment, before his familiar, mischievous grin dawned upon his face once again. Out of nowhere, Bert seemed to be feeling better, for next he got up from the bench and lightly strode to Marry Poppins' side to share, for all to hear, a personal experience of using the (ridiculous, in Ansem's opinion) word. To Ansem and Noctis' shared sense of amazed horror, he, as well, rhymed all the he said in reference to it.

Noctis leaned toward Ansem to whisper in his hear, "Ok, _now_ this is getting weird."

"What I want to know," Ansem whispered back, "is where on earth that band just came from," for now there was also a pack of musicians improvising full instrumental accompaniment to the couple's rhyming act. "I think this adventure is a musical," he half joked, half feared deep down. As the moments drew longer and longer, he noticed that Noctis' knuckles got whiter and whiter gripping the bench.

"What happens in the chalk picture stays in the chalk picture," he warned Ansem.

"Well, since you put it that way...then actually, I think it's kinna gettin' to me," Ansem teased, reclining backward against the bench and putting his arms behind his head, and finally allowing his foot to begin tapping. "You gotta admit. On the road, these two could make a very comfortable living," he added, with a peaceable grin.

"Man, whatever," Noctis grumped. He always tried to be so cool, but sometimes his efforts escalated to the point where it must have been making him miserable. Ansem now started to notice this about his friend for the very first time, and immediately recognized that oftentimes in the past he himself had done the very same thing. Enlightened now, he could feel a strange and passive new courage start to well up somewhere inside of him. He felt himself physically relax, practically slipping off of the edge of the bench, and, with a bit of fear, but in a good way, could tell that a permanent change in his character was taking place. He could now appreciate things for what they were, and actually caught himself being reminded of the way Hans always acted.

_I guess you were way ahead of me, bro,_ Ansem thought, closing his eyes to the deep sapphire-blue sky.

The next thing the prince knew, however, a blinding flash of lightning and instantaneous clap of thunder roused him from what apparently had become a nap, but he discovered himself now seated on a black, wrought iron bench at the park. Right in front of where the row of chalk-pictures had been, no less, but now he was completely by himself, and all that remained of Bert's drawings were clouds of swirling pigment flowing through puddles all over the sidewalk. A thick blanket of steely gray clouds raged overhead, causing havoc in the streets of Hollow Bastion as people scrambled to take cover from the surprise downpour. Admiral Boom and his crew, alone, had been prepared, and were now bailing water over the side of his house with wooden wash buckets.

"Put your backs into it, men!" he cried, barely audible, from where Ansem sat, over the roar of the rain. "Or I'll have yer livers served up to me pet iguana by mornin'."

Ansem was deepeningly confused, not in the slightest caring that he soon became soaked to the bone, hardly even feeling the sharp, freezing droplets, in fact, over where his three friends had mysteriously disappeared to. Or had it all just been a dream? But the ruined chalk-pictures were even still here.

Ansem noticed that his close were back to normal, as well; No more pretend-mafia suit. No more hat, either, so his wet hair flattened and stuck to his face. Yet even then, his bewitched bangs were reluctant to fall, remaining stroked as they were, but now looking like they'd been stuck that way with heavy grease instead of happenedly by the force of water. At least it kept them out of his eyes, he gratefully noticed.

The sailor's words and sudden alternation of character still managed to make Ansem laugh a little to himself, in spite of his growing mental distress. He could have pictured Marry Poppins pulling something like this, performing incredible magic and then having people believe that they only imagined it, but not Bert. Bert was the one who talked openly and in a 'matter-of-fact' way about her powers; Ansem didn't think _he_ would have lied in this sense. Nor Noctis.

But where was Noctis in the midst of this? Surely the boy had been with him all day, and not even possibly just another figment of some dream; Ansem could feel with his fingertips that the scars he'd had on his face were still gone, which meant that the day before _had_ surely happened-Noctis, sorceress, and all-and Noctis had said they were "staying through till Saturday", which meant that he should _theoretically_ still be here today.

The real problem that he seemed to be having was that he couldn't remember falling asleep at the park. He couldn't even remember sitting down at the park. And he certainly couldn't remember walking here alone, and believed that Noctis would have awoken him had he happened to slip away for a wink. Could this dilemma possibly be solved by himself right away, or did he seriously have to go and find at least one of his co-conspirators to ask?

Unable to verify anything with the information that he had for the time being, Ansem gave up, and released himself from the strain of his thoughts. He reclined in the bench again, and just let himself be pelted by the rain. The flashes of lightning were infrequent, though extremely close by. Deep down he did have nagging fear that he might get struck, but stubbornly just wanted to enjoy the storm for a moment.

"You Highness," he heard a deep, surly voice say, shattering the meditative atmosphere he'd been enjoying so much. It was one of the undercover guards who normally followed him or his brother when they visited the city. "Your Highness, these conditions no longer fall under the category of reasonably safe. I am to escort you home without further delay."

_...Dangit..._ "Alright, alright. I'm getting up," Ansem moaned, moving sluggishly, and not without a slur of muttered petty complaints thrown in at the end for good measure. He stood up and stretched, yawning widely, just as another bolt of lightning flickered in the distance and was followed a moment later by a low, rolling rumble. "My dad ought to give you a raise," he teased the stoic guard.

The man maintained his grim face and replied with complete ease, "Any trouble you give me comes out of your allowance."

"Touché," Ansem said, walking ahead. He finally noticed that his hands were freezing cold, and stuck them into his pockets; Though soaked, there was still some warmth in there. "Hay, how long was I asleep?" he asked, pausing in his steps, and looking back at the guard.

"No more'n ten minutes, I would estimate."

"_Really?_" Ansem asked, "Are you sure about that? It felt like _hours_ to me."

"Quite sure, your Highness."

"Hmmm." The prince struggled hard to think of how to phrase his questioning. "Noctis Caelum spent the whole afternoon with me, correct?"

"Indeed."

"And we spoke with the man who drew those pictures on the sidewalk back there?"

"I wouldn't know, sir," admitted the guard.

"_What?_" Ansem asked, taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"You were already out like a light when I found you, and I was only lost for fifteen minutes tops."

Ansem just stared at him in dumb silence for what seemed like forever, then asked, "You're joking, right?"

"Nay, your Highness," the man confirmed.

It took every ounce of Ansem's self-restraint not to smack his forehead in disbelief. "Let me guess," he proposed instead, not in the least bit certain of weather he was 'putting-two-and-two together' logically, as they say, or rather making a grand assumption clear out of the blue, "And there was no one else nearby?"

"Well, not exactly," the guard said.

"_'Not exactly'_?"

"There were other people in the general area, but they all kept their distance from you while you were asleep. And even up 'till now, I haven't located young Mr. Caelum since the two of you gave me the slip. (I just hope he has more commonsense than you do-sitting on a metal bench in a thunderstorm-_with all due respect_, your Highness,)" he explained.

Ansem sighed heavily. "_Go figure,_" he muttered, folding his arms and massaging his forehead. Another drawn-out silence followed. "Well," he stated at last, at least able to recognize a dead lead when he had one, however much it frustrated him. "You can forget that raise. (And _don't you touch my allowance._)"


	4. The Clock Keeper's Daughter

**AN:** Note that all of my beautiful italics are missing. Stupid text editors messed it up. I'll fix it later. Right now I just wanted to get the bulk up on here, finally. I posted my first pathetic attempt at this story on here over two years ago, you know. And now it _finally_ has some substance! :D

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Chapter 4: **The Clock Keeper's Daughter**

It was already late in the day as it was, but with the appearance of the storm, the streets were fading quickly, and soon filled with their glow of gas lamps and doorpost lanterns. Wooden business signs suspended from chains over the many curio shops creaked in cold breeze, audible only as the two walked directly underneath them. Soft, warm light could be seen in every house, every where, though slits in their drawn curtains as people withdrew indoors for the unexpectedly early night.

The castle stood atop a motte surrounded by a dam, such that the fortress was not unlike its own island sitting in a giant bucket of water, with a dense mass of evergreen trees growing around the immediate area and even up the sides of the earthy mound. Unlike this great fountain, the castle itself was taller vertically than wider horizontally, with straight, white spires by the dozens arranged symmetrically when seen from approaching the front gate. Two particularly fat towers stood for the castle's too front left and right corners, with flat tops each, and in between them, on the centerline, stood the castle's tallest tower, with a pointed top and a widening base connected to a large white dome.

The only building more beautiful than it, at least which Ansem had ever seen, was the ancient stone cathedral at the other end of the city. In fact, as he had seen from the balcony at Sorceress Edea's orphanage, the two actually made quite the duo; The cathedral, though one-third the size of the castle, was made of a dark blue-gray granite solid through, every brick was hand polished, and both its interior and exterior had literally hundreds of granite or white marble sculptures, of every ranging scale, stacked upon its walls all the way to the ceiling. Then of course there were stained glass windows, which both buildings had, but the royal castle had been made of more plainly cut white stone, in complete color contrast, and featured several outdoor terraces tiled with huge slabs of an unknown dusty-red material. An enormous clock with a face shaped like the royal family's seal decorated the front of the castle in between the dome and the top of the entrance gate; The seal itself was a fusion of a basic heart and an upside-down fleur-de-lis, with a stylized compass-rose inside.

But the storm sat so low upon the land that the castle's uppermost towers were lost in the clouds. The mote swelled, and the trees everywhere shivered together like orphans crowding around a stove, their branches made heavy by the retention and downward pounding of the rainwater. Alleyways along the way filled with mud, gutters overflowed, and the prince walked without cover beneath it all. The guard proposed stopping somewhere and waiting for the downpour to lighten, but Ansem insisted that he'd rather just get home quickly and be done with it. Fortunately, he had fought off the urge to pretend like he was flattered and poke fun at his escort for wanting to spend more time with him.

They climbed the stone steps that ascended the outer rim of the castle's mote, where at the top there was an elegant, square marble frame that housed a gigantic metal gateway that controlled access to the bridge over the mote, which then in turn lead to another stairway up to the castle itself. A bit of a hike for anyone who minded, but really an excellent source of exercise if one was young; Even more so if one was elderly, and especially of one lived there. The gate itself was unlocked early each morning and left open until the late afterhours. Being mindful not to slip, the two finally made it to the top, and some more guards opened the heavy, over sized wooden doors into the warm firelight. Ansem's escort summoned a pageboy and asked him to inform the king and queen not to worry, the prince had returned.

"Yessir, right away," he said, and scurried off, while Ansem headed off to his room to get changed and dry off. As many of the bedrooms did throughout the castle, his room even had its own small fireplace, which he discovered upon arriving to be already lit and crackling heartily.

"Great," he said to himself with a smile.

It was funny, he had noticed in the past, that the real discomfort wasn't itself in being so cold, but more so the sensation of 'thawing'. It was only the transition from warm to colder, and even from cold to warmer, that was the real bother; Like how he hadn't minded being cold in the rain, but definitely minded it now that he was in an atmosphere that was far warmer than he was. It was like he involuntarily wanted to close the gap between the temperature of his surroundings, and that of his skin. Ansem wasn't sure exactly why he thought this way about it, but at least it seemed to make a little bit of sense whenever the idea kept reoccurring to him. Not like the observation had any effect on the way he went about warming or cooling himself, so what did it matter?  
It was funny, he had noticed in the past, that the real discomfort wasn't itself in being so cold, but more so the sensation of 'thawing'. It was only the transition from warm to colder, and even from cold to warmer, that was the real bother; Like how he hadn't minded being cold in the rain, but definitely minded it now that he was in an atmosphere that was far warmer than he was. It was like he involuntarily wanted to close the gap between the temperature of his surroundings and that of his skin no matter which was which. Ansem wasn't sure exactly why he thought this way about it, but at least it seemed to make a little bit of sense whenever the idea kept reoccurring to him. Not like it had any effect on the way he went about warming or cooling himself,

So what does it matter? he thought, shrugging the idea off. He was already long aware that sometimes he'd think too hard about something only to realize, after all, that the long journey had been completely meaningless, and the hard-won conclusion was, not just ineffectual, but often self canceling! Maybe the paths of rationale that he'd taken themselves could have a smidgen of value as "knowledge for knowledge's sake". But still, whenever it happened again, his deep drive for efficiency would suddenly present itself and want to smack him for thinking in circles.

The sun had not actually set yet, though it was close by now, yet the storm conjured the impression that it was already ten o'clock at night! All the windows in the castle's upper stories were shut tight, otherwise it might even have rained indoors. Certainly, the ambient moisture alone would ruin the carpets, tapestries, and old furniture if left unprevented.

Ansem pulled on some new clothes and toweled his head off with a cotton shirt he never wore because he just didn't care enough to walk halfway down the hall to the shower room. Then, dressing his cold feet in two pairs of dry socks because his shoes were waterlogged, he headed down to the dining hall for dinner.

The hallways were teeming with people tonight, Ansem found as he walked. Groundskeepers, guards, and young soldiers who had all been caught outside when the downpour started were invited in for the night, in addition to which there were maids and servers running around getting towels and refreshments for everyone, and keeping a true count of nearly 100 separate fireplaces lit all over the castle. Some newer architecture throughout the capitol city had central heating systems built in, but unfortunately Ansem's parents were a far cry from about to tear apart this relic of their heritage with such a huge, destructive, and costly renovation project. They had, however, given into installing a few small gas-heaters in individual rooms, like the library.

Speaking of which, a visit to the library sounded like a good idea to Ansem. His mind wandered, dreaming of everything and nothing, but mostly of what he would ask Noctis when they caught up with each other again.

I hope he didn't get struck by lightning, because then I'll /never/ know what really happened today, he joked in mental privacy.

The population in the hallways became more and more numbered the closer Ansem got to where food was being served, until at last he reached what could have easily been called a kind of epicenter: the dinner line. Fortunately, Ansem knew that he was allowed to go straight into the kitchens and ask for a plate, which he did, and then set off to find someplace in the castle less crowded and more quiet where he could eat it.

First stop was the library, but that too was surprisingly packed. Must have been because there were all these stranded people who tonight had nothing but time on their hands. That being the issue, his next inclination would have been to try a broom closet for want of solitude, except that was nuts.

Ansem just hoped he could find a place before his meal got cold. And just having it under his nose was making him impatient. He came up with a strategy. For some reason, most people hated stairs, so that's what he targeted. And, right on the money, the more stairways he ascended, the more drastically the halls emptied.

Thats...kind of weird, he told himself when his guess turned out to be right, But I'll take it!

He had only reached the castle's fourth-floor level, but already the scene was nearly desolate. Wandering around in search of a good place to finally sit, he eventually found a small meeting room adjacent to the castle Chapel. In here, he was surprised to find that he could faintly hear the rain hammering on the dome of the Chapel. It was that quiet in there, which was kind of nice.

There were six red-seated chairs pulled up neatly around an oval table made of walnut that was polished to a high gloss but had dulled over a generation of use. There were no windows, so the room was made to appear larger by having a long mirror on one wall, and a large painting of an open landscape fill the wall that face the doorway. Mounted on the wall that was opposite the mirror, there were two elegant oil lamps with snowdrop-shaped frosted glass shades, only one of which Ansem turned on. The carpet was a bright green, as in many, many other rooms in the castle, but so also was the wallpaper a dark green, with diagonal gold lines in it crisscrossing each other to form a simple diamond pattern which, was enhanced by tiny swirling designs in dark blue. The whole room definitely had a strong vintage appeal, make no mistake, but it wasn't ghastly looking. In fact, it had strange charm that started to grow on Ansem after a while, in exactly the same way as Bert's chalk drawing of the old willow.

The food had cooled a good deal, but he was still perfectly happy to eat it.

Hay, wait a minute, he thought, pausing suddenly with the fork still to his mouth. He chewed extremely slowly, contemplating the bite carefully, then swallowed. Yep. He was starving alright. But I at so much, and not even all that long ago. Does this mean I imagined the whole day after all? He ran his left hand through his hair and scratched the back of his scalp, still holding the fork with his right.

However, before Ansem could brood a single notion further, a soft pair of voices caught his attention from the hallway. They were coming this way, and in absolutely no hurry. Ansem, being still in a solitary mood, got up and extinguished the lamp, set his plate on the seat of his chair and pushed it under the table, and hid behind the open door, hoping they'd pass. Ansem waited here several minutes, taking only slow and calculated breaths. There a man's voice, and possibly a young girl's voice, and the two sounded like they were carrying something heavy together. Ansem just took it for granted that the castle was full of people he didn't know, who worked there, at any given hour. Technically this was his home and so, yeah, definitely that was a little bit strange, but decidedly he just always left it up to his parents to worry about it. And, the truth was, he personally found that he had to be introduced to someone at least three or four times before he could significantly remember them.

The voices were close now. He'd deduced that the two had a father-daughter relationship from how they referred to each other. They passed the door, he could see through the crack in which its hinges hung it by, casting a fleeting shadow across his hidden eye as they blocked a few of the lamps which illuminated the hallway.

"Watch your fingers," said the man, gently. He had streaky, short blond hair and some well manicured beard stubble. His irises were a light, airy blue, and stood out starkly from the rest of his face almost like two floating blue dots. He was short and skinny with a slim-fitting blue vest on over a white collared shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black elastic bands around the sleeves above his elbows, and a solid green tie tucked into his vest. His daughter appeared to be about 12 years old, but was only a head shorter than him. She had light russet hair down to just past her shoulders, parted very far to one side, and pulled back in a ponytail at the base of her neck. Her eyes, very much unlike her father's, were a pepper-mix of blue and hazel-gold that created an illusion of green. She wore white shoes, a plaid, dark blue skort, and a solid black black, formfitting hooded jacket that was unzipped halfway to show a pale yellow top underneath; Her appearance was girly enough, but clearly her color preferences were not. The girl and her father were carrying between them a very wide, very flat, wooden shipping crate as big as a tabletop.  
"Come on. Come on," Ansem whispered, anxious to get back to his meal. Sure, he wondered what was inside the box. Wouldn't anybody? But not enough to bother him. "Oh, dangit," he breathed, for the two incidentally reached their intended destination at the door right across the hallway from his hiding place, where he would have been in the direct line of sight. In other words, he was trapped here in the shadows until they finished whatever their business was.

The man shifted the crate to free one hand so that he could withdraw a key from his pocket and open the door. They carried the box inside, then switched about a dozen lights on, from what Ansem could see. He actually had a pretty good view. In that room, there were no carpets, just a bare cement floor, and it was incredibly large. Clearly, it wasn't a living space. Or maybe it was being renovated? Or, perhaps, dare he suggest it, was anybody even supposed to be in there at all? Ansem doubted the likelihood of undercover operations, but now that it had occurred to him, he became all that much more interested.

Cold air poured out of the room and filled the hall as well as the small green meeting room. The more lights the two turned on, the more Ansem's eyes began to widen. Just barely visible from his vantage point, being mostly hidden around the corner of the second door frame on the farthest wall, was a huge, whirring, silver mechanical device set into a cutout of the stone wall that was not even sealed to the outdoors.

It's the back of the castle timepiece, Ansem realize in breathless awe. He'd never been allowed in there before, but as they say, out of sight out of mind. Well, it was definitely in his sight now, and he didn't think there could possibly be a way of ever unseeing it.

"Cooool," he whispered, with a shudder due both to the draft and the awesomeness before him.

"I'll be right back," he heard the young girl say to her father, whipping around and walking briskly back towards the door.

"Oh snnn-" Ansem hissed. She was looking right at him. but still, he hoped that somehow...

"Hello," she said with a cheeky smile, standing on her toes to look him in the eye through the space in the wood. "I know you're in there," she confirmed, and moved to turn the lamp back on. A dim glow returned to the room, and Ansem stepped from his hiding place, just praying that he didn't look as embarrassed as he felt. His forehead was already growing quite hot.

"What gave me away?" Ansem asked, trying to make it sound like it was no big deal, and scratching the back of his head.

"I saw the light go off and no one leave," she stated simply. Then shrugged, "I've been caught that very same way, myself, on many an occasion."

Ah, a fellow 'loof, Ansem thought. "Ya don't say," he stated. Funny, she didn't seem shy at all. Or, maybe that had something to do with immediately empathizing with his awkward situation?

"My name's Savannah, but everyone calls me Sai," she told him, sounding like she was becoming distracted.

"Uh, nice to meet you," Ansem said, still feeling awkward. Was it just him, or was the room getting smaller by any chance? "Do...you wanna step outside?" he asked her.

"Sure," she shrugged, taking the lead, and then, speaking over her shoulder, asked him, "What were you doing in here, anyway?"

Ansem really didn't want to go into detail, so he just answered, "Um, just hangin' out."

"Here, I'll introduce you to my dad," she said, beckoning him to follow her into the barren workshop. "He's the official clockkeeper for the whole castle. Pretty cool huh? All he does is wind them, grease them, and fix 'em, all day long; May not sound like it at first, but there are so many clocks in this place that it's actually a full time job, and some of them (like the big one outside) are really cool."

"Seriously?" Ansem asked. He'd never actually thought about it. Clocks existed, sat there, and did nothing but give different answers to the same old question repeated all day long. "How many?" he asked.

"Over two-hundred-and-eighty-something," she answered, confidently.

Her dad was squatted down on one knee with his back to them, undoing the nails of the packing crate.

"Hay dad!" she called, "I'd like you to meet a new friend of mine." She stood back a ways and turned to face halfway between them, then introduced her father as Rutherford Monteleone, known by most as "Monty". The blond man got up and turned around just as she happened to say this. Suddenly his eyes popped out of his head and he nearly stepped backward and tripped over the crate.

Ansem was really getting tired of people reacting to him that way.

"And, uh, your name?" Sai asked him. Apparently she hadn't yet seen her father's face.

"Uh, um," Ansem stammered, then looking the older man straight in the eyes, told them the first tolerable name he could think of, "Terrance." It came from a character in a novel he'd just finished a few days ago; The book was ok, he'd decided, but still held that the character assortment in its own right was pretty cool. That of Terrance had been a rogue tournament fighter who traveled between small regions, which he competed in in order to earn his livelihood while in search of philosophical truth.

The man, Monty, had indeed gotten the prince's secret messages, but when his daughter wasn't looking, squinted one strange blue eye at him as if to say "Shame on you."

Ansem just squinted an azure eye right back at him as if to say "You better not give me away."

Conceding, Savannah's father swiftly launched into explaining to him exactly what it was they were doing-replacing a corroded wheel-right down to the very strengths and weaknesses of several different manufacturers, that he had worked with in the past, who made the needed part, which was what had come in the crate. He had brought Savannah along with him to work today because she liked to help whenever she could, and he would need an extra pair of hands for this particular job. Unfortunately, like had happened to everyone else, the rain came as a complete surprise to the two of them and now the project would have to wait until tomorrow, since the scaffolding was wet. All they could do tonight was carry the part in and do some light prep work on it.

Ansem mostly watched while Sai and Monty carried this task out, but there were a couple of times that they let him get his hands dirty, so to speak. It was definitely cold work, as now that the sun was down the temperature outside plummeted like a rock, the mist spraying in through the spaces between the enormous cogs just made it even worse, and not to mention the three often had to sit right on the bare cement floor.

There were nearly a dozen paired lamps that encircled the room, or what was available of it since they were bolted to the wall; They had a similar configuration as the oil lamp back in the meeting room, but Ansem could tell from the pewter design that these instead ran on gas, for they were detailed after the lamplights displayed along the stone stairway to the castle's entrance.

Maybe these were all extras from when the castle was first built, and the workmen just stuck 'em in here so they wouldn't go to waste, Ansem conjectured.

With the addition of all the explanations, they finished their prep work within an hour-and-a-half or more. These people were really nice, and Ansem really liked them a lot. Monty had a gift for wording everything so simply and straight-forwardly, and thus Ansem had had no difficulty whatsoever understanding all the precision weirdness that is machinery. In fact, the man might even have made a fine lector on the subject. And, for this Ansem was insurpassibly grateful, Sai actually turned out to be quite tomboyish just an inch under the surface. Though, not like that was surprising for a girl who palled around with a dad like that all day. Monty was so, so patient with them.

In fact, Ansem even found that he enjoyed act of tinkering itself; It was "kind of rugged, kind of shiny," he decided.

It was getting pretty late now, so they decided it was about time they headed home, before Sai's mother could start worrying. They invited Ansem to drop by at any time the next day if he wanted to help them actually install the part. Monty promised it would be worth it, with a wink. And always lending a heavy inflection whenever he said the name Terrance, which to Ansem just made it feel he was getting hit with an invisible elbow in the ribs, every single time; And he knew that Monty could tell this.

"See you tomorrow, Terrance! Good job tonight! Tell your father I said 'hello', for me, will ya please, Terrance?"

The man definitely had ways of getting his points across, as slyly as they were concise!

Yeesh, was Ansem's final thought before they left. Afterward, he wondered just how long he was going to be stuck with this alias. Or, in the worst case scenario, if he would ever be able to shake it should she learn his real identity and still opt to call him that, teasing him like her father was doing.

Watch out for duos, concluded, shaking his head with a tiny, involuntary smirk, then went back to his room to warm up again and finally get some decent, normal shuteye for once.

When he got there, the fire had died to embers, so there was little warmth to be had. This sort of thing was exactly why a small stack of logs was kept in his room beside the fireplace; He wouldn't have to go downstairs and find a maid to restore it for him. Ansem dug out a pair of pajamas that wasn't his usually preferred, silk blue ones, mainly because these were warmer.

And gosh darn it if warmer is not what I really want out of life, he told himself, referring to to his thoughts from earlier.

The next morning it was Ansem's turn to be busy with torturing, though he had been able to catch up with the renegade Noctis at breakfast. He had to be careful with his wording, just in case something truly was amiss and Noctis hear out his whole story and decide he'd just gone mad.

"Hay, Noct, remember that guy who played a one-man-band two days ago?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't we see him again yesterday and wasn't he drawing art on the sidewalk?"

"Yeah."

Ok, so at least that much is confirmed, Ansem thought.

"And, didn't a lady come up to us carrying a black umbrella with a parrot's head for a handle?"

"Uh, yeah," Noctis said, munching on a buttered biscuit.

"And then, uh, she took us all someplace..." Ansem paused. Finding the right words was difficult, words that would both say exactly what he meant and yet still not. "...With a lot of grass," he finished, immediately aware of how stupid that came out sounding. "Er, where there was a small carnival," he added.

"Yeah," Noctis said, not even looking at him, but focusing solely on his plate, which was practically spilling over the sides with a huge, towering mound of eggs, ham, and double side of jam filled danishes.

Ansem, now, was starting to not be convinced by the boy's answers; Just something about the lack of heart behind his every "yeah".

"And, then we all fell in a sinkhole and tunnel our way out?" he asked, as a test.

"That's right," Noctis said.

Ansem gave him a stern frown. "You're no help at all," he said. "Seriously, I need to know what you remember from yesterday."

"Why? You don't remember?" Noctis asked, demolishing his towering breakfast before Ansem's very eyes.

Ansem answered truthfully, "I fell asleep on a bench and just need to sort out what I dreamed from what really happened, that's all."

"Oooohhhhh," Noctis said, obtaining a devious glint in his catlike eyes. Ansem could just see the thoughts being spelled out in his mind that the boy was planning to give him trouble. "In that case," he said, "you lost a bet and still owe me six dollars. Fess up," and stuck his hand out.

Ansem just handed him an extra roll off of his own plate, instead.

"Here."

"Hmmmm," Noctis said, and then pretending like he was a banker testing to see if a coin was real gold or not, bit a small piece off of its corner, and exaggerated the motion like he was actually bending it. "That'll do. That'll do," he said.

Ansem gave up and, giving a snort of breath and shaking his head in tolerant frustration, returned thoughtfully to his own breakfast.

After finishing with all his classes for the day, Ansem eagerly set off in the direction of the Chapel again to see if it wasn't already too late to help Sai and Monty with the repairs. When he got there, however, he found a small note written on a piece of paper that was tucked in between the door and its frame, which read.

"Gone to check on Sai. Be back in half-hour. - Monty, 1:10pm"

"Huh?" Ansem said, "What does that mean?" Was Sai okay? he wondered.

Casually, he walked a few more rooms down the hallway to find one of them regular, boring, small clocks to check. The time now was 1:43, so Ansem just went back to the green meeting room to hang out and wait for Monty to return. He turned one of the oil lamps on again, and went to sit down. Had Ansem not been paying attention, he would have sat down right on his leftover plate from last night.

"Um, ew," he said aloud, wrinkling his nose at the sight of the withered, dry food. He couldn't even bring himself to pick it up to set it on the table, so he just pulled the chair out and put it with its back against the wall where the plate would be seen by someone, Hopefully this week, and just pulled out a second of the six chairs for himself to sit in.

While waiting in there, he took to examining the huge painting. It showed a scene of rolling, golden hillsides in an open, wild country. In the distance there was a rustic wooden construct of some sort beside a towering metal windmill, with a deteriorating fence running a malformed ring around the surrounding property. He really didn't like the predominantly dried-up look of the landscape, though the sky in the picture was at least a magnificent, deep, yawning blue, and came to think that switching it out for a painting of an underwater scene would be much nicer in here. Like a painting of a whale sticking its big nose in the viewer's face, or something; He didn't know where he got that idea, maybe simply from wanting to rebel against the overwhelming yellow and green color scheme.

Monty arrived just a few minutes later and unlocked the clock-room door without first seeing Ansem.

"Hay," said the prince, getting up and waiving a hand once. Monty turned around and smiled at him as Ansem switched the lamp off again and walked out.

"Oh, hay Terrance," he said.

Ansem narrowed both his eyes at him with a bemused half-frown-half-smirk, as if to say "You know, that's getting old".

"Where's Sai?" he asked.

Monty sighed heavily. "She's sick today," he said. "Must have caught a cold last night. It's all my fault," he groaned. "I knew it would be cold. I should have made her wear something warmer."

"Oh, sorry about that," Ansem told him. He wasn't sure how to console him, because in that case, it kinda was his fault. "Tell her 'get better soon' for me," he said. "Tell her 'Terrance' said that," he joked.  
"Don't worry, I will," Monty said, suddenly grinning a little deviously. "I hope you don't mind being my only help today," he added. "We have a lot of work to do, and this can't wait, as you know; All the clocks in the kingdom are lost without their leader."

"Sure beans," Ansem confirmed, "That's why I'm here."

"Great," said the mechanic. "First, we need to dismantle that whole mess." He pointed to a large, black, boxlike machine that had fat, round beams coming out of it that connected to the back of the face of the heart-clock. "And lay all the parts out carefully so we can inspect the rest of them, since we have to take them out anyway in order to put the new piece in."

"Cool," Ansem said, eager to get started.

That task alone ended up taking them over an hour. They laid all of the various pieces out on the floor systematically, which took up approximately a whole one-quarter of the room. Now Ansem finally understood why the designers hadn't even put tile in here, like there was on all of the balconies, terraces, and other outdoor platforms.

Some of the parts were solid iron and weighed hundreds of pounds. For these, Monty had a rolling device with a thick steel arm that had all manner of vices attached to it, which could be fastened around certain prescribed parts of only certain clock pieces, that they used. Taking the clock part on and off of the arm was dangerous, so Monty only let Ansem tighten some of the vices before he unbolted it, and then help him push it across the floor, but not to take the part off again; He showed Ansem where the break was on the rolling arm, and then had him stand way back while he lowered the chunk of iron to the ground.

Later on Ansem learned that the arm was Monty's own personal invention, and that historically it had taken more than six grown men to do this same job, at least safely, and that Ansem's father was reluctant at first to pay for the the tool's pricey creation, which required multiple, huge, custom dies to be created for the casting of the steel.

The prince was amazed, because he had never known before that one could have their own designs professionally manufactured like that. He supposed that he'd always assumed one had to be an elite member of some large company who produced other things, and had a lot of funky resources. To be absolutely sure that he did in fact understand what the man meant, he posed the hypothetical question,

"So, suppose I designed a ninja star or something. I could have someone carve a mold of my design, and then make as many copies of the star as I wanted?"

"You got it," Monty said.

"Sweet," Ansem said, envisioning a million new and shining possibilities that now laid open before him.

When they were through with the inspection, Ansem helped Monty carry the unpacked wheel-thing over to the boxlike machine, and at last to put it in. And finally, after that, to reassemble all the parts they'd taken out, for they were all proved to be in passably acceptable condition. Most of them were as old as the castle itself, which apparently was a sign that the clock had been well taken care of since its creation; If a major piece breaks, normally it would break several of the smaller pieces if left neglected. And a similar case with rust, since it holds the moisture longer and causes the rust to worsen faster, often even dripping rust onto parts that before then would have been fine, and hastening them to start degrading.

It was possible, these days, Monty explained, to spray a protective laminate over the metal to help prevent all that, but this clock was an antique and a proud landmark, and King Freyr just wasn't ready yet to do too much tampering with it; He had heard rumors that the laminate Monty recommends sometimes causes cogs to become too slippery, and so loose some of their precision, which was critical above all in timepieces.

They finished the job in four and half hours, and then parted ways. Ansem had invited Monty to stay for dinner as a thank you, but he said he just wanted to get back home and see how Savannah was doing, and maybe pick up some kind of treat for her on the way since she didn't get to help.

Ansem himself went back to his room to change his clothes again since the ones he'd had on had gotten filthy from the dust, dirt, grease, and who knows what else had been in there-probably bird poop. He scrubbed his face and hands, but still couldn't get all of the black grease off. Hopefully his mother, Zoe, wouldn't notice, and embarrass him by trying to clean his face in public just like moms are stereotyped for. Yeah, he could definitely see that happening tonight.

"Hmm, I must proceed with extreme caution," he mumbled to himself, quietly, folding his arms and stroking his chin for exaggerated theatrical effect, momentarily pretending that he was a character in a movie and that this was one of those high tension 'do or die' circumstances. Which it would actually become, if Noctis happened to be watching. Ansem physically shuddered as the thought occurred to him.

Unfortunately, the Caelums would be leaving in two days. It was never foreseeable when he and Noctis would get to visit again, even though their fathers met frequently on business. Ansem didn't actually like the archduke much, surprisingly. He found the man to be... 'Sour' and 'dark' were the first words he could think of, and they actually hit the nail right on its head, so to speak. That was his own opinion. He'd mentioned once to his own father that Mort Caelum gave him the creeps sometimes, weather it was the way he was sitting, or the look in his eyes when he stared off into space, or something grim that he would say so completely stoically that it gave Ansem chills.

"The man's jaded," Freyr had assured him. "His region has the second highest crime rate in the whole kingdom. I know for a fact that he's personally seen more stuff than most serial killers do."

"Justifying the reason still doesn't make him a nicer guy," Ansem complained. "No matter what, you shouldn't let bad things like that get to you. (Obviously, in his case) it'll ruin who you are, and keep you, and everyone around you, miserable even when times are brighter. That is," he glowered bitterly, "if Mort was ever more congenial to begin with."

After Ansem's speech, Freyr just smiled and ruffled his son's hair. "You are most wise, Young One," he lovingly teased, "But that's not as easy as you make it sound. My only hope is that you never change."

"I just can't figure out how Noctis can deal with him all the time," Ansem ranted. "That would bum me out, and Noctis is like, half crazy, or something." His father's answer was simple.

"It's easy when you're family," he shrugged, with a vague smile that was clearly tinged with nostalgic sadness. However, then his countenance morphed completely as he chuckled, "But Noctis _i_s pretty tough."


	5. The Ice Queen

Chapter 5: **The Ice Queen**

A long silence followed in which the two cast around in their minds for a new subject to talk about, until Ansem finally thought of one.

"I met Monty the other day," he told his dad, "the clockkeeper."

"Oh really?" Freyr said, conversationally.

"Yeah. Nice guy. He had his daughter with him," Ansem said.

"Oh _really_?" his dad asked, giving the topic his full attention now. "And how did _that_ go?"

"She's half as crazy as Noctis, I'd say. _For a girl_," Ansem informed him.

Freyr laughed. "Wow. I haven't sen her since she was four," he said. "Monty's been with us for a long time. I'm surprised you never met him before. Tell me, Ansem, is she pretty?"

"Uhhh, she looks okay, I guess," Ansem answered, awkwardly. _'Ugh, parents!'_ he thought, fighting not to roll his eyes for real. "She came to help her dad replace a part in the heart-clock, but it rained that night and she caught a cold, so yesterday I helped him instead."

Freyr now looked concerned, leading Ansem to wonder if he had said too much.

"Er, is that a problem?" the prince asked.

"No... No, not really. I've seen him work, so I know he's careful. But accidents can happen anywhere, and more easily, and in worse ways, in some places than in others. I trust Monty, but I don't want you ever going in that room without him there. Do you understand?"

"Got it!" Ansem said, feeling his knotted nerves release, and grinning widely.

They finished their lunches, and then Freyr went off to "go do king stuff", while Ansem, through a great personal triumph of willpower, dragged his butt to English class.

"It's not like I don't already read more books than the _teacher_ does, anyway. So _what_ that she's had a _hundred-year_-head-start on me; If life was a fair game, I'd already be out-readin' her own grandmother by now," he ranted quietly to himself, the whole way through the winding hallways to right up to the door of the study room. He reached for the handle, when suddenly it opened, and in the doorway stood Ms. Yzma, his English teacher.

"You leave my grandmother out of this," she growled in her creaky voice.

_How does she do that?_ Ansem pondered in wonder. _She's like a viper who senses vibrations through the walls!_

He often wondered if he should pity the woman, who was ancient as mummy dust and extremely ill tempered towards other people, only then to meet her face to face again and abruptly conclude the answer to his own question:

_Nope._

He just looked her coolly in the eye, jaw locked shut, walked in, and sat down to wait for her foreseeably uninspired lecture to begin. The bad thing about having an entire classroom to yourself was that you could never, ever, _ever_ get away with _anything_. When Hans was younger, he had even tried to paint the tops of his eyelids to look like they were open, and laughably going against all rationale, had actually gotten away with it about three or four times. But _ever since then_, Yzma had been the wiser, so the one time Ansem tried it, he got punished with extra assignments.

"_Only_ to help keep you awake, my dear, since _clearly_ you are so bored by my talking," Yzma had cooed with a smile like Cheshire cat that was tormenting a caged canary, tapping her bright-pink clawed fingertips together.

After class, Ansem was feeling as drowsy as though he had been under hypnosis for the two whole hours, and so wondered if Yzma was building a brainwashed army somewhere underground in an effort to mobilize plans for world domination. For anyone to be that dull, there _had_ to be a good reason out there. Maybe she wasn't even human and only survived by regularly feeding off the souls of children? That would have actually explained a _lot_ about her.

Unfortunately, he still had two more classes to survive: History and Music, in that order. He was a dead man. Music wasn't half as bad as History. At least in there you were allowed to make noise; He hoped today that that would help him snap out of his daze, and get his energy back up after withdrawing from the mental hibernation he was now sinking into.

However, to Ansem's great woe, in Music he had a surprise written test that he had to complete. The teacher slipped it onto the polished surface in front of him and cheerily informed him that there was no time limit, believing completely that she was doing him a kindness. But Ansem took one look at it without picking it up, sitting with his hands still in his lap under his desk, and then abruptly let his head fall onto the wood with a loud _THUD_. (He felt his bangs, which he now usually wore stroked down the center of the top of his head, suddenly flare like the crest of a cockatoo.)

"Are you unwell, Your Highness?" the teacher asked, hearing the hollow sound behind her and turning around to see him still laying there with his face pressed into the paper.

"I am now," he moaned, turning his face onto the other side in an effort to get more comfortable on the hard oaken surface that he deeply wished had a pillow on it.

"I presume you aren't interested in the extra credit, then," she said. Her words sounded like they ought to have been a joke, but the tone of her voice was completely without emotion.

"Gosh no," Ansem moaned, his own voice muffled by the pressure on his face.

"Very well. If you are all set, I will return shortly," she said, and ducked out through the door. Still laying there, Ansem could hear her high heels clicking briskly away down the (dove-blue) marble tiled corridor.

_'Same here,'_ was what he deeply wanted to say, and then to let himself drift off into a nap until the test was over. But Ansem knew that wouldn't happen, and so, reluctantly, he pealed his face off of the page and set to sleepy work on it.

Fifteen minutes later she returned, and then sat at her desk for the remainder of his undefined session doing nothing but punching holes in stack, after stack, after stack of paper, clipping them each into binders. From what little Ansem knew about her personal life, he at least knew that she often volunteered her time for a nonprofit choir. He conjectured that the growing tower of thin black binders must have been for that choir's annually updated repertoire.

Naturally, being a part of the royal family, Ansem and Hans would often get dragged to special events that they would never have otherwise found interest in had they been left to their own devices. Charity and "awareness" events, ribbon cuttings, and even arts festivals, to name a few. Many stirred no special feelings in Ansem above a sense of "business as usual", but once in a great while, to his own surprise above any's, he found that some of these gatherings actually turned out to be considerably enjoyable.

For one instance, he could remember seeing an elite adults choir perform a Christmas concert a few years ago, to collect donations for winter homeless shelters, at the big beautiful cathedral on the other side of the city, and had been absolutely blown away by the experience. He did not know for sure, but highly doubted it, although thought it would have been cool, that it could possibly have been the same choir which his teacher now volunteered for.

_I mean, they had to get their appeal through to my parents, /somehow/, he reasoned._

Maybe it was only ten minutes, or maybe it had been a whole hour, Ansem didn't have the slightest clue, but at long last the glorious moment arrived when he finished every question on the paper, and stiffly turned it in.

"Can I go now?" he essentially begged, slouching as he stood at the front of the woman's desk.

"Yes, you are dismissed," she answered, plainly, simply, and infuriatingly disinterestedly.

"Hm," Ansem involuntarily snorted, for his immediate impulse had actually been to joke, 'Shouldn't that be _my_ line?' but he held it back. However, he quickly regretted saying anything at all, because suddenly his teacher looked up at him over the top of her reading glasses, probably interpreting it completely wrong from the look on her face. "Uhh, I mean ''_Thanks'_," he corrected, and practically bolted out of there before he-or she-could do anymore damage.

"Noctis, help me," he said, a little while later that day. "I'm boooooooooooooorreeeed. School went so badly today. I need something interesting to do, but my mind is too busy feeling like roadkill to think of anything."

"_Well_," started Noctis, lifting a hand to his chin and looking deviously through the corner of his eye to the sky, as though he already had just the remedy in mind. He even paused for additional dramatic effect. "I got nothin'," he suddenly admitted, dropping the act like a catcher who'd been thrown a potted cactus.

Ansem scowled at him.

"Nah, I'm only joking; I do actually have _one_ idea," he stated.

Ansem continued his scowl, unchanged from before.

"No, I'm serious this time," Noctis asserted. "I've been saving this," he reassured with an ominous, sly grin.

"What is it?" Ansem asked, raising an eyebrow, keeping all his hopes in check.

"You'll see. Common, its in my suitcase," Noctis said, lightly hopping down from the bow of a tree and sprinting across the courtyard and back indoors. Ansem got up from where he had been lying in the grass with his back against a large white boulder, and swiftly followed suit through the interior of the castle to the Caelums' guest suit.

It turned out to be a model rocket kit that Noctis _just happened_ to bring with him.

"You never know when you need what," he reasoned aloud, with a wide grin like he was a hokey salesman.

"Nice," Ansem said, taking interest.

"I've got enough engines here for three launches," the duke added, reading from the back of the box. "That should be enough to get us both grounded for at least two weeks," he said.

"_Planning_ to get into trouble, are we?" the prince asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm joking," Noctis said, flapping his hand up and down at Ansem without looking up again. "That all probably depends on where we launch it. Also, I don't want to loose it on a roof somewhere."

"The park by Admiral Boom's place?" Ansem prepossessed.

"Nah. Place isn't big enough; We'd loose it there, for sure. I'm thinking the courtyard right here is the best we can do."

"If you say so. How high does it go, anyway?" Ansem asked.

"Doesn't say. And I've never tested it," Noctis said, turning the box over a couple of times in his hands.

"Right on," the prince joked, implying that the experimental status just made the thing that much cooler. Whatever happened, at least they were headed into uncharted waters, for better or, possibly, far worse.

They assembled the launchpad that had came as part of the kit it in the courtyard, as Noctis had suggested, and then stuck one of the paper wrapped engines into the bottom end of the silver rocket. Then they strung the rocket onto a long, vertical wire that extended from the actual pad, which was for aiming the rocket. They tried to direct it straight up so that, hopefully, it would fall straight down, but Noctis said that it even had a parachute which it would deploy, and then they would be solely at the wind's mercy. The air was calm today, so neither of them worried about that too much.

Ansem laid the wire that would spark the engine, and they both stood back.

"Ignition in tee minus 10...9...8...7..._oh forget it_...1..." Noctis said, pressing the little red button.

("Can't have rocket launchers without a red button," Ansem had stated, as though for one to do so would be an unspeakable disgrace upon the whole rocket-launching community.)

The model fizzled for but an instant, then immediately shot skyward, becoming a blazing, golden streak in the late afternoon sunlight. At first, its path was straight and true, but then something completely unthinkable happened. Ansem and Noctis helplessly looked on with identical expressions of horror on their faces as they saw the rocket's perfect path abruptly arc, and a tiny, tiny speck come falling from the point in the sky where it had turned. The once glorious, now traitorous, streak shot straight into the side of the castle, and through a small stained glass window in one of the spires.

Noctis suddenly looked deathly ill, as though he'd just received the tragic news that his much beloved pet fish had all eaten each other. Not that Ansem really knew if he had any pets.

"I am _so_ gonna get it," he said, squatting down on his heels, and covered his face with his hands.

Ansem continued to stare at the point of impact for several, long, silent minutes. But not from shell-shock, rather, he believed that he could actually find which room it had landed in.

"Follow me," he said, and took off running as fast as he could.

Noctis looked up from his worries just in time to realize that he was getting left behind, and reflexively sprang up and after his friend.

At the door into the castle, Ansem only stopped running long enough to 'act normal' for some casual passersby, who might potentially recognize signs of mischief and pry, delaying him even further. Noctis caught up then, already keenly aware of what he was trying to do.

"Maybe if we find it, they'll think it was a bird that did it," Noctis hoped, aloud.

"Yeah... Maybe," Ansem sighed. He hated the idea of having to resort to that; He consoled himself by deciding that he wouldn't suggest the notion if it didn't arise on its own. On the other hand, he could imagine Noctis blurting it out if he was asked what happened. Strangely, Noctis seemed genuinely afraid, as though of something more dreadful than getting grounded.

They got past all of the onlooking bystanders, turned a corner, and bolted again, Noctis following Ansem, since the duke actually hadn't even seen most parts of the castle other than the mainstream necessities, like the front door and, obviously, food. There were many places that not even Ansem had been to, in fact; Mostly unused spaces in the deepest, shadowed corners of the castle, quite possibly where they were even headed at that very moment.

They had to slow down and 'act normal' for bystanders only once more before reaching the base of the tower that Ansem believed was most likely the right one, but this time managed to draw a few glances of interest in spite of their efforts, because they were considerably out of breath and having trouble remaining stealthy about it.

"Oh great," Ansem suddenly realized with an impatient frown. "Stairs."

Noctis complained likewise.

Up, and up, and up, they circled, checking each and every one of the small chambers that branched off from the spiral steps along the way. They all had every single one of their colorful, dust-caked windows intact. None of the rooms were in use by living beings; Many were completely devoid of furniture, floors unswept and sugared with a fine, perfectly even layer of dust. Still others had only one or two large floor pieces in them, like armchairs and dressers, that were draped eerily in long white dust-cloths.

"I think this is the wrong tower," Noctis put forward. But as it turned out, they hadn't even ascended that far. The spiraling staircase was just disorienting them, which they finally realized when they looked out of one of the cleaner windows in a room and spotted the ground below as a reference.

Suddenly, they heard a sound that wasn't their own. Somewhere in the staircase below, they both thought they heard somebody muffle a sneeze.

"Bless you," Ansem had said, thinking that it had been Noctis who was behind him.

"That wasn't me," where the words that gave them their fateful realization. They stared at each other for a moment, listening intently. Although they heard nothing further, both of them had a strong feeling that they were being followed, and ran in the only direction that they could. Formerly, Ansem had been getting dizzy from the circling journey, but now as adrenaline coursed freely, his mounting, nagging nausea was stripped away.

Passing three more rooms very quickly, they glanced around frantically for a place to hide. They were like two cats being chased up a tree by an even bigger cat; The higher they climbed, all the more trapped they became.

"_Woah!_" Ansem said, catching a hold of an open door frame to stop himself. "The rocket!"

Inside the room could be seen an obvious hole in a long row of tall blue, red, green, and orange patterned windows, like a porthole to the sky punched through the lens of kaleidescope. He dashed inside to retrieve the silver toy, only then to hear footsteps marching quickly up the stairs from behind where Noctis was waiting in the door frame. They were about to get caught!

There was some sheeted furniture in this room: an ottoman, a few winged chairs, a fairly large round table, a child-sized roll-top desk, and something rectangular that was over eight feet tall that was right in front of the door, and the first thing one saw, pulled out about five feet away from the back wall of the circular space. So, Ansem, his eyes widening as much as those of a deer crossing a highway at night, hurriedly beckoned Noctis to hide with him underneath the cloth that covered the round table. The table wasn't quite in a direct line of sight when entering the room, so he figured they probably stood a half-decent chance.

"_Shhhh!_" They both hissed at one another in turn, sitting on the floor under the table.

"Quiet!"

"No _you_ be quiet!"

"_Shut up!_"

"No _you_ shut up," they exchanged, hearing the footsteps draw frightfully near.

A young girl entered the room, with russet hair down to just past her shoulders and that was parted steeply to one side.

"Oh my gosh," Ansem whispered, "It's Savannah."

"You know her?" Noctis asked, sounding curious.

"Uh, more or less. We met once. Her dad is the clock-keeper around these parts."

"Ohhhh. Trying to get to her through the father, eh?" Noctis asked, accusingly.

"_What?_ Noctis, I ought to take that smug face of yours and rub it in my armpit! It's not like that!" Ansem snapped back, still in a harsh whisper.

"Haha, you like her don't you?" the duke chided.

"Noctis, you know... Just... _What?_ Just _what?_ If that's all you care about, then fine, you can't have her."

"I _knew_ it," he said, alas shutting his stupid mouth for Pete's holy sake. Ansem was infuriated with him, which seemed to be all that Noctis wanted.

Girls. Ah, yes, girls. Something Ansem's parents had warned him about so many times that he was sick of ever hearing about the subject-about these magical pathogens called hormones that eventually are supposed to take over one's soul. What he hated most about the idea was the notion that a mere _chemical_ could hold so much more sway over a person's decision-making than even sound logical rationality did. In a world like that, he believed that someone could potentially forcibly change _anyone_ else's mind to hold _any_ belief that they willed, simply by giving them the right "medicine". Ansem hated it when other people seemed to _accept it as a given_ that he could be so blindly controlled as that, weather the strange agent in his blood had been administered, or even generated by his own traitorous body. Sanity is reason, reason is logic, and logic is math, and math was universally constant; Any decisions reached without taking a path of logic were inherently insane, in his own humble opinion. Even if all that it meant was waking up one morning and suddenly finding that overnight you somehow changed your mind about the opposite sex.

The few times that Ansem had tried to explain this stand, in the hope that his parents might begin to spare him the same old lecture year after year, they always just answered, "One day, you might feel differently about that," which of course just made him want to smack his own forehead in utmost hopeless dismay. _Reason!_ His point was derived from _reason!_ How then could it ever change, unless rudely blotted out by something that wasn't?

"Hello? Who's there?" Savannah called, glancing around the room. Good, she hadn't seen or heard them, but then she started checking under the white clothes; The first thing she reached for was the tall rectangular piece, tugging just slightly on the ghostly dust cover when then it fell to the floor with a beautiful rippling shiver. Pillows of dust puffed up from the floor, swirling like smoke, which lit up in multicolor from the rays of light filtered through the stained glass panels. Suddenly, there came a dramatic stillness, onlookers waiting, staring, as the dust settled, and all beheld an extravagant, polished, dark-wooden wardrobe, like a spell had been cast.

Sai reached for the egg-shaped, metal knob, slowly, turned it, and entered.

"Now's our chance!" Noctis hissed, and sprinted out from under the table and out of the room, as silently as he could but still not without a lot of noise.

Ansem sprinted after him, but had only just entered the stairway when he suddenly noticed a bright flash behind him. He spun around for only an instant, and saw Sai laying on her back in front of the wardrobe, with its door suddenly thrown open, as though the object had forcibly ejected her.

"What the...?" he breathed, trying to figure out what had just happened. However, the girl was recovering quickly and Ansem had to flee or risk being caught sight of. He had the rocket, and that's all that was mattered for the moment.

Later that night, however, Ansem crept back to the tower on his own to examine the wardrobe. Sai hadn't looked hurt, otherwise he might have expected it to be full of explosives or something.

_Or maybe old photography equipment?_ he pondered, wondering if perhaps Sai had set off a flashbulb and jumped backwards out of surprise, although he personally could have sworn that the flash he saw was far brighter than that.

He wasn't sure exactly what level up that particular room had been, but it turned out to be easy enough to find by following the cold draft that was drifting down through the closed-in stairway. The candle in his hand flickered dangerously, on the brink of going out at any second. Arriving at the coldest room, a crystal clear, dark blue sky peppered with an almost creamlike consistency of stars could be seen through the gap in the broken window, all now fallen dark and colorless in the absence of day and moonlight, Ansem lingered momentarily in the doorway, taking in the sight of the shadowy wardrobe.

It was truly a piece of art, weather or not one could even fully see it. Somehow, it seemed to have a living presence of its own which filled the whole room and spoke to the soul, tempting one's imagination to fancy of greater things in life. The craftsman of this piece must have truly been a master. But, knowing this castle, how long ago? For all Ansem knew, he or she could have passed on three-hundred years ago!

_Artists die, but their art lives on_, Ansem thought, in silent amazement.

The breeze suddenly picked up, throwing his unbrushed hair around his face, and toying dangerously with his light source. Deciding that he better take his opportunity before it went out and he wouldn't be able to see the contents of the furniture piece, Ansem alas approached it and grasped the knob. Its cold metal seared his hand instantaneously, before the latch clicked and the panel opened up to him with light ease. The door was balanced perfectly on its hinges, for it gave no sign of its possibly immense weight, and did not creak at all.

Another cold gust immediately rose up just then, and snuffed his candle.

_Dangit_, Ansem cursed. But now a new mystery began to plague him. _That_ gust had been more _icy_ than merely cold, and had it come...from within the wardrobe?

_Is this some weird kind of icebox?_ Ansem thought to himself, proposing the idea but not really convinced of its likelihood.

He stepped in, for inside it was far deeper than it looked from the outside. Pushing his way though fold after fold after fold of thick fur coats hung on both sides, in fact, no matter how far Ansem made it, he could not actually find a back at all. It was toying with his mind to such degrees that he could hardly stand it! He looked behind him and saw a thin sliver of dark blue through the open door-more than ten feet back!

Perplexed as well as excited, Ansem just kept digging his way through.

_There /has/ to be a be a back panel here somewhere. This surely can't go on forever like this._ The idea of an infinite space contained in a finite capsule began to appeal to him in a strange way. It was mysterious, it was frightening, and somehow, completely awesome.

Just as he was thinking that, however, suddenly his hand touched something that clearly wasn't fur-cold, and wet, and grainy. Ansem slid apart the last two coats in the wardrobe, and suddenly beheld a miraculous vision of a snow befallen evergreen forest.

"_What the...,_" he said aloud in a soft, hushed breath that crystallized in the air in front of him and blew away like the stuff that dreams are made of. "Where...where am I?"

Ansem gazed around, trying to take everything in at once. He looked behind him as he stepped out of the wardrobe and onto the frozen peat, and made sure to note that he could still see the sliver of blue that lead back to the spare room in the tower. Yep, it was definitely still there; He had not been transported without being left a return rout, thank goodness! But what was truly odd about it was the fact that he could see it was clearly still nighttime in Hollow Bastion, and yet here he was outdoors, undoubtedly beneath a shining sun!

"Woah," was all he voiced as he realized this.

Ansem, quite cold in the changed weather but even more curious, continued to venture out a little ways, where the strangeness of the place increased. Seemingly in the middle of nowheres, he came upon an ornate pewter lamppost, as though hijacked from a city street corner, just standing in the snow amongst the endless trees. The little burner inside it was lit, shining furiously, though it did little good in the middle of the day. He stared up at is as he passed as though having never seen one before, even though the truth was just the inverse and it was lamp's whole surroundings that were what was out of place.

Just passed it, Ansem soon came upon a long, narrow stretch clear of trees and underbrush that appeared to be a snow-buried footpath, and followed it to a much wider one, undoubtedly a road. There were sharp, crested mountain peaks visible in between thick, gnarled wooden trunks, and from atop a hill that Ansem climbed, below he could see a winding, frozen river disappearing into them.

To him, the presence of roads meant that there must be inhabitants. However, so far, and very strangely, he had not yet seen or heard a single living thing, not counting the trees, but not even any birds in their branches, or common critters that would normally inhabit the earth below.

Ansem took to leaning against an exposed slab of raw granite, and spent several minutes observing the expansive view. And then, alas, noticed a rushing, grinding sound that was fast approaching in his direction. He sought the road out again, and arrived at it only just in time to dive out of the way of a swerving sleigh drawn by eight enormous albino reindeer.

He rolled in the snow, unhurt, but the sleigh came to a quick halt none the less just a short ways down from where it had nearly hit him. Ansem stood up and brushed the clinging white powder from himself. He was extremely cold now and starting to get wet from the melt. His hands were going numb, and turning a bright shade of rosy pink; He clenched his fists to keep his fingers warm, and hugged his arms around himself to help it.

Just then, the driver of the sleigh, a very ugly, hairy midget with a pointed beard down his knees, an overgrown bulbous nose, and a knitted dark red hat hopped down out of the sleigh.

"It's alright, I'm fine!" Ansem shouted, but the little man was less than pleased, grabbing a whip even as the prince spoke, and suddenly charged after him with a roar of fury, seriously like he intended to _kill_ the boy.

Although he was little, Ansem was not inclined to struggle with him to the death at the moment, and turned to make a run for it. But the dwarf had already closed half of the distance between them, and lashing his whip, caught Ansem around the ankles and dragged him down. Before he could even get up again, the dwarf pounced on him, drawing a curved knife, and held him down with it to his throat.

"What is it now, Ginarrbrik?" a woman's voice called impatiently from the passengers bench in the sleigh.

"Get off of me!" Ansem yelled furiously at the tiny brute, who smelled strongly of stale barley mead. But, to Ansem's immeasurable horror and shocked disbelief, he just spat in his face instead. Skin crawling like hyper maggots from the spray, he suddenly flew off the handle at the dwarf, and launched him clean over his head, somehow-Ansem didn't know how nor would he have betted that he could do it again if he had to-without getting his throat slashed. The dwarf rolled and charged him again, but Ansem had managed to stand up by then and adopted a loose ready-stance.

"Ginarrbrik! Enough!" the woman's voice barked authoritatively from behind Ansem. He wouldn't turn around to look until the dwarf relaxed and put away its knife.

"Yes, your Majesty," the dwarf, apparently Ginarrbrik, said tamely.

When Ansem did, he backed up to the side of the road where he could watch them both without exposing his back. He found that the voice belonged to a towering, possibly seven foot tall, fairly young woman in a long, sparkling, white gown who wore a tall crown made of upside-down icicles. She also had on a full-length cloak of snowy white, genuine mink fur. Her skin itself, too, was alarmingly white, but her irises were solid back, and she had long, curling hair of ash-blond. In a strange way, Ansem thought that she was actually quite beautiful.

"What is your name, Son of Adam?" the white queen asked.

Ansem eyed her suspiciously, maintaining his ready-stance.

"A-" He thought for a second, briefly considering, with a mental chuckle, telling her "Terrance". "Ansem," he announced truthfully instead, deciding to play the royal-card lest she sick her disgruntled minion on him again, "Prince of Hollow Bastion."

"Prince?" the white lady repeated.

"Yes," Ansem confirmed, not smiling at all. He could still smell that dwarf even from as far away as he now stood.

The woman paced about three full strides, watching the snow at her feet, in thought. "And how is it, then, that you have come to enter _my_ dominion?"

"I... I don't know, ma'am. I don't even know where I am," he said, finally relaxing from his stance now that the conversation had become civilized. "Who are you?" he asked, but immediately wished that he hadn't, because the question seemed to greatly offend the woman. Quite vain, wasn't she? She took a moment to bottle her fury, locking her jaw tight and clenching her fists, but not looking at him, paced a few more steps, and then came to her senses and politely introduced him to her world.

"You have come to Narnia," said she, "And _my_ name is Jadis, _Queen_ of Narnia."

"The pleasure mine, milady," Ansem said, breaking out his best formal etiquette and affording her a slight bow from his waist. But she only stared coolly at him as he did so, and did not move an inch herself to do anything, not even nod, or blink for that matter.

_Well, then that's the end of that_, he thought privately. Political superiority games, oy what a headache. _I'm too young for this_, he thought, and rolled his eyes the instant she turned her head.

They talked for a few moments, in which Ansem described his own world, some of its history, and even a few generalities about his family's lineage.

"Ansem," she said, very suddenly after having only been listening for several minutes, "You look so cold. Won't you come and sit by me in my sleigh, and I'll get you something to eat that will warm you up?"

_Oh, what the heck_, Ansem said to himself. "Cold" was an understatement by this point. His feet were numb, his clothes were soaked, and already his lips were even starting to chap from all this talking. "I'd be delighted," he said, and gratefully followed her onto the carriage.

She slipped one end of her long, long mink stole around his shoulders, and then took from apparently somewhere in its depths a tiny, beautiful metal phial with swirling, decorative designs embossed all over it. Jadis then lightly flipped its green-jeweled cap open on a small hinge with her white thumb, and tapped a single drop of something bright aquamarine colored onto the snow from over her side of the sleigh.

Ansem had looked on with only mild curiosity as she did this, but then suddenly with a great deal of interest when the droplet subsequently conjured the snow itself to rise up and take the form of a beautiful silver dish with a fully diamond encrusted lid covering it. The queen apparently noticed that he was impressed, and smiled kindly.

_What? /Another/ sorceress?_ he thought, with his jaw falling slightly open. Ansem had met so many wielders of magic over the past several days that he was starting to not be able to help feeling a little jealous anymore. Let alone, knowing that he was only human, every time that he witnessed one of these woman perform something, and ten times worse if the spell was cast on _him_, he felt unforgivably weak in comparison for simply having to obey the laws of physics. It wasn't fair.

"How did you do that?" he asked the queen, accepting the dish when she handed it to him.

"I can make anything you like," she offered.

"No, I mean... Can you teach me?" Ansem clarified.

But in response, the queen just smiled girlishly. "You're so silly," she giggled, nudging his cheek with the knuckle of her index finger, "_Anyone_ can cook. My my, hasn't royal life spoiled you!"

"No, I mean," he tried again, speaking slowly and carefully, "Can you teach me how to do magic?"

The playful smile died from her features, and she did not answer for a moment. Though, Jadis did not appear angry, only thoughtful. Snapping out of it, she flung herself back in her seat comfortably, and spoke very straightly from then on, like an old business partner sharing a new proposition with her esteemed colleague.

"Of course I can," she began with, giving Ansem's shoulders a squeeze with her hands just as he took a bite out of a hot strawberry éclair from the silver dish, causing him to inhale some powdered sugar by accident and cough. "As a matter of fact, you might be just the sort of person I've been looking for-someone to take as an apprentice."

"_Really?_" Ansem asked, almost inhaling even more sugar in shock at the word, not to mention still trying to clear his lungs from the first time. Was this to be believed, or was she kidding? He daren't allow his hopes to soar just yet, but fighting them was becoming increasingly difficult, to say the least!

"Why yes. You see, I have no children of my own, and when I die, all my years of knowledge and experience will die with me. It would be a tragedy if I could not find someone to pass it all on to."

But, at this, Ansem became a little confused.

"No children of your own? But then, who will succeed you in Narnia?" he asked, picking up a second sugared confection.

"That's why you're perfect!" she chirped, grinning excitedly. "Your brother will reign in your world, and you can reign here, uniting our two great lands."

"Hay, you know, that's pretty brilliant," Ansem admitted, thinking over a mouthful of tart jam. He found himself to be warming up astonishingly quickly, and also quit a bit hungrier than he had realized until now.

"Thank you, Ansem," she said, smiling and absently smoothing the front of her glittering dress in her lap. "In fact, I would very much like to meet your brother, if you could bring him here for me. What did you say his name was?"

"Hans."

"Of course. Silly me. What do you say, can we arrange that?"

"I would love to," Ansem said.

"Wonderful," said Jadis. Then, taking the empty plate out of Ansem's lap and handing it to the dwarf, who had been standing silently beside her side of the sleigh this whole time, appearing to grow sourer by the minute, Jadis told him, pointing, "Do you see those two hills ahead, beyond these woods? My house is right there in between them. Alright?"

"Got it," Ansem nodded.

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be on my way," she said, and removed the fur mantle from his back so that he could get out. Ginarrbrik retrieved his whip from its repose in the snow, and then hopped back into the driver's seat with it. Jadis winked once and then blew a quick kiss, saying, "Don't forget," just before the reindeer bolted, and pulled away with remarkably instant speed.

Ansem shivered, watching her go. He was already cold again, if not colder than before. But he told himself that it only _felt_ that way in contrast, having just been cocooned in real mink for so long a time, and now the water was evaporating off of his wet clothes. That's what he told himself, but a small part of himself didn't truly believe it. In fact, that part was also telling him that there was something horrendous going on.

Ansem gradually and miserably found his way back to the lamppost, and from there back to the wardrobe and the tower room. He shut the wooden door behind him with a gentile click from the internal latch locking into place, and then sat on the lavender tile floor with his back against it, reviewing a slide-show in his mind's eye, with his eyes closed, of all the wonders he had seen in that weird place. He was so cold that the floor felt warm to his fingertips, in spite of the fact that the window was still broken and the temperature outside was in the 40s. (F)

Since his clothes themselves were the coldest of all, he didn't want to move because then the unwarmed parts would shift and steal his limited bodyheat. None all the less, though he never even remotely considered it, it would be far worse to sit there, immobile, until they had dried; That was crazy, but that's ultimately the alternative that he was faced with. So, standing up and casting his glance one last time around at everything in the strange and solitary setting, Ansem set off at a very quick, almost hobbling walk to return to his bedroom. Along the lines of his thoughts before on the subject, being cold and wet in a warm and dry environment was strangely far worse than being cold and wet in a cold and wet environment, and it was more the transition from one to the other that was the most uncomfortable.

Reaching his chambers, he looked at the new clock he had been given to replace the one he'd smashed his mirror with, and found that the hour had barely progressed at all in his absence. In fact the difference was probably only made up by the time he spent in transit between here and the tower, and the short time he'd spent just hanging out in there.

_That rocket smashing into that particular window has got to be /the/ luckiest thing that has ever happened to me, at least if Jadis is serious about taking me as an apprentice_, Ansem thought with a silent smile as he tried to warm himself over his fireplace, now enjoying his thicker-woven pajamas.

That night, he had an highly enjoyable dream about himself graduating his years-long apprenticeship, at alst! in which Jadis suddenly revealed that she was immortal, and had actually always intended for him to join her by her side when he was old enough, becoming immortal himself as the final test of his mastery of magic, instead of merely succeeding her upon her death.

It was not until the fourteen-year-old awoke the next day that he realized in horror how romantic that dream was. He tried not to think about it, because the more he did, the less he could argue otherwise.

_Today is Noctis' last day. We need to make the most of it_, Ansem reminded himself. He checked his clock, threw on his day clothes, and raced down to the dining hall to grab a hot breakfast before they closed. He found that, deep down, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, he was ready to swear off the eating of pastries for the rest of his life. Surprisingly, he bumped into Hans there, who was running late this morning as well.

"Oh, hay, I've been meaning to talk to you," Ansem began, piling on the toast and eggs in front of himself.

"What's up, Ansem?" Hans asked, casually.

"I...I found something yesterday. Something really, really awesome, and I want to take you there later and show you."

"Sure beans," Hans nodded.

"And, uh, you're going to have to dress warm."

"Oh really? Why? It's supposed to be in the 70s (F) today," Hans asked, accepting a tall glass of orange juice from the server.

"You'll see. Just trust me. You are not gonna believe this," Ansem told him, grinning widely in spite of himself.

"Try me," his brother said slyly, and sipped the juice to prevent it from spilling over.

They finished their breakfasts respectively, neither of them spotting Noctis, who normally arrived early and took his time so that he could fit more food in.

"Meet me at the top of the main staircase on the fifth floor as soon as you're ready," Ansem had said to Hans before they parted.

Briefly, he then went to the Caelum's suit to try and find Noctis, but no one was in there "Dangit," he muttered. He had hoped to invite his friend to Narnia with him, but in the end could not find the boy anywhere.

Finally, not wanting to keep Hans waiting for hours, Ansem gave up on Noctis and ran to his room to grab his long winter coat and some waterproof boots, still grinning at the prospect that maybe, just maybe, he might finally learn some magic of his own. As he wound his way through the castle's hallways, though, he had to dodge people's looks of curiosity, and once in a while the question, about the unseemly heavy gear that he carried over his arm.

"What's the coat for? Winter is months away!"

"Umm... Well... _'You never know when you'll need what,'_" he found himself quoting, as he slipped passed the person, awkwardly.

"What are you up to?" someone else asked, eventually.

"Oh, you know. Trouble. What else did you expect from the likes o' me?" he airily told them, as if it were nothing.

But as the crowd thinned even more than it already started as, upon Ansem reaching the fourth floor, he happened to run into only one more person, Sai, who was sporting a long coat as well. Today, she had her hair done up in a French bun with her bangs left out to fall diagonally across her eyes.

"So, you got in too, huh?" she asked, grinning. "Narnia, I mean."

"Yeah. I take it you coming back with us," Ansem said, nodding to her attire.

"'Us'?" she asked.

"Hans and I," Ansem said.

"Hans?"

"My brother."

"_Prince_ Hans?"

"Ummm," Ansem said, realizing that he'd been caught. "Yeeeaaah. About that."

"Get out of here," Savannah said, as though not believing him.

"Well, you know, I would if I could, but this is kind of my house," Ansem joked.

Savannah punched him in the side of the arm.

"Hay!" Ansem said.

"Shame on you."

"That's what your dad told me."

"He knew?"

"Of course. My dad his his boss."

"Then...shame on him too."

"No, no. It's all my fault...I told him I'd sick my minions on him if he told you," Ansem laughed.

But Savannah just raised her fist again.

"Ok, ok, alright. Yeesh, _violent_ much?" he said, moving to cover the sore spot on his arm with his other hand. "I could have you arrested for that," he then added, rubbing it, not that the first blow had really been that hard.

"Bring it, _your Highness_," Savannah said, glaring at him.

"I see what they mean about the wrath of a woman scorned," Ansem muttered, very quietly.

"What's that?" Sai asked.

"Nothing! Nothing," Ansem said, louder, and with a fake smile.

They reached the foot of the stairway on the fourth floor, and caught sight of Hans waiting patiently at the top. The brothers waived, and then the two arrivals hurried up the stairs.

"This is Savannah," Ansem said, introducing the two. "Preferred alias: Sai."

"It is a pleasure, mademoiselle," said Hans, pecking the top of her wrist in mock formality.

The girl giggled slightly, and Ansem rolled his eyes.

He noticed that Hans was wearing no more than a light jacket, and indicating it with a nod, stated, "You're going to need more than that where we're going."

Hans compared his modest protection with the heavy coats that the two younger ones were each carrying. "Hm, I can see that."

"Do you want us to wait while you get a different one?" Ansem asked.

"No, I'd rather not. This'll be fine, or I'll just deal with it," Hans insisted.

"Okay then. But don't say we didn't warn you."

"I won't," Hans promised.

And they set off, both Ansem and Savannah not telling Hans where they were going, until they reached the tower room with the wardrobe in it.

"You're both not making any sense," he kept telling them, getting frustrated because Ansem and Sai were talking with each other as if they had they own unintelligible language, and only once in a rare while would drop insufficient hints of explanation for Hans to pick up on.

"You'll see, you'll see," they both kept telling him, mysteriously.

As they were climbing the stairwell, he mentioned, "I don't see how it would be any colder up here than down there."

"I don't see how, either, but it is," Ansem had said.

At last, they reached the correct landing.

"Awe _man_," Hans said, spotting the window and the colorful broken glass scattered all over the floor. He waked over to examine it, and concluded that, "This must have happened recently. At least in between now and when it rained a few days ago. Look at the dust, here."

"Don't look at _me_," Ansem said, biting his tongue, and shrugged as if he didn't know what happened.

"No. The glass is all on the inside of the window. Something that came from outside did this. Probably a large bird," Hans reassured him, which only had the effect of making Ansem's gut squirm as he recalled Noctis' prediction. "So, what, and where, is this great all mysterious awesome thing that you wanted to show me?" Hans asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Right here," Sai answered, indicating the tall wardrobe and imitating a game-show-girl showing off what the game's participants had a chance to win. She paused a moment for the effect to sink in.

Hans slouched, glancing at the wardrobe, then at Ansem, and then staring at her. "You're joking, right?" he asked.

"Nope," Ansem said as he pulled on his coat and buttoned it hastily, then seized the metal knob and threw the wardrobe door wide open for the others to follow through. "I almost wish I was..._almost_."

Savannah marched through after him, leaving Hans to decide for himself if he could do worse.

"Fine. Guess I shouldn't leave you two in there by yourselves," he said, not really to anyone in particular, but Savannah had heard, and stuck her head back out.

"Uh, ew," she scolded him, with a disgusted look on her face.

"Sorry," he said, slightly abashed.

She disappeared again, and Hans followed.

Just as before, Ansem pushed though the endless hanging furs, and at long last stumbled out once more into the blanketed white, brightly shining landscape. He had to wait a moment for his eyes to adjust, then pushed himself back up from the ground. Savannah and then Hans both stumbled likewise, respectively, soon afterward.

Savannah behaved right at home already, and the two watched as Hans, disoriented, got up and wandered around, touching the trees to see if they were real.

"This is _incredible_," he said.

"You're telling me," Ansem commented, surveying the area. He inhaled a deep, deep breath, and then watched it fly away.

"I promised I wouldn't complain, didn't I," Hans said, sheepishly. He rubbed his bare hands together and blew into them a couple of times, then stuck his head back inside of the wardrobe-porthole, and came out with one of the long, fur coats for himself to wear.

"Now why didn't _we_ think of that?" Savannah asked, looking at Ansem, and laughing.

"I trust that the two of you know where you're going," Hans said.

"Somewhat," said Ansem, walking off in the direction of the wider road. Hans and Sai caught up with him, and they strolled casually about a quarter of a mile down, discussing the unusual presence of the lamppost, still lighted and burning furiously, as they passed it.

Maybe it was just the cold air not agreeing with him, but after a short time, Ansem started feeling a little nauseous; Maybe he was finally coming down with something, himself, since he _had_ been frequently finding himself getting caught in the elements lately, and miraculously had always escaped the potential consequences, until now. That didn't help the unpleasant feeling that was starting to nag at him, though.

Eventually, the road lead through an area at the bottom of several small granite cliffs. The speckled black and gray surfaces of their exposed faces complimented the snow surrounding them and that sat in their crevices perfectly. Even the clear sky above, at times, appeared so thin a shade of blue that it too almost seemed monochrome. The trees beyond the pine forest were bare of leaves and crusted with ice, dangling icicles from their narrow and sagging branches, giving the rocks and even harsher over all impression. True to the nature of winter, the sight was melancholy and dead, but still breathtakingly beautiful.

As the three passed by, Sai spied a cutout amongst one pile of rocks at the base of one of the cliffs. It had a rustic wooden frame built in it, and a door hanging askew from its hinges, wide open to the weather. The damage looked fresh, but despite alarms of warning going off in each of their heads, the adventurers decided to investigate, and approached cautiously.

It proved to be a residence, or had once _been_ a residence until recently. The place was a disaster inside, with glass broken, books, papers, picture frames, and furniture all thrown around and destroyed. Yet more disturbing than any of these signs of violence, were amongst them the presence of large, monstrous claw marks, absolutely everywhere, as though an evil bear had done this.

Hans found a large, official-looking notice nailed to a rustic support post, and plucked it down to read it. It was stamped at the bottom with some kind of seal that resembled an over sized paw print, and signed elegantly in a scowling, calligraphic hand. Ansem wrinkled his nose at it, as he tried to understand how such a heavy-handed barbarian could also be capable of the exact opposite of the spectrum, and draw up letters with all the refined sophistication of a high scholar. _...Maybe it was dictated?_ No, the phraseology proved just as elegantly put, and pretentiously long-winded to boot.

Ultimately, it summed up to be the arrest warrant for a faun by the given name of Tulmnus-no family name given-for having associated himself with humans, and in doing so committed high treason against the queen, Jadis. The signature given at the bottom identified the ransacker as one named Maugrim, captain of the queen's secret police.

Ansem could not believe his ears. The woman he'd met yesterday ordered _this?_ And for what crime! No, he couldn't believe it. This note had to be forged by miscreants who just wanted to start a rebellion. He couldn't believe that Jadis would do this. He wouldn't accept it.

But, what if she _had_, and he was just being played? Ansem wondered, that tiny part of himself from before growing stronger. He really felt ill now, physically so, and had to lean against the post to keep himself standing.

Hans and Sai were devastated by what they saw, and voiced a strong and immediate hatred for this "Jadis", and were about to conclude between themselves that the best course of action was to return to the wardrobe and never come back, when Sai noticed the pale green color of Ansem's complexion.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her own face, even her eyes, filled with great concern.

"Yeah," Ansem moaned, quietly. "I think I'm just coming down with whatever you had two days ago." He leaned the side of his head against the pole and closed his eyes.

"Maybe...we better sit down," Hans suggested, giving Ansem a strange look, and righted three of the overturned chairs, giving the first to Ansem, and then pulling one up for Savannah like a real gentleman, then finally taking the last for himself.

Ansem leaned over and buried his head in his hands, taking two fistfuls of his hair.

"Just give me a minute," he said. The discomfort was extremely distracting, upstaging even the fact that his trust might have been misplaced in Jadis. Or, maybe that was part of it? His hopes had soared in spite of himself, and now here they were coming crashing down on him in flames. He winced once, with his face hidden, and then summoned his strength to pull himself upright again. "Okay, let's go. I'll be fine."

His two companions each gave him their own versions of a look of much reproach, but got up from their seats and followed him out.

They had only taken a few steps back down the road, when a cardinal flew by and landed on a tree branch in front of them, above some tall bushes.

"_Psst!_" the creature said.

Savannah looked up at Hans, who was much taller than her, perplexed.

"Did that bird just 'psst' _us_?"

Hans just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

"Psst!" the cardinal said again, "Come quickly! And don't be seen!"

"Huh?" the three each said. They exchanged quick glances with each other, and then ran off after the red bird, which wove between the trunks of trees with ease, and had to perch frequently to wait for them to catch up, though it only lead them no more than fifty paces away from the path.

"I should like to know what you three think you're doing, hanging out in the open like that," it scolded them, with a deep, remarkably human-sounding voice.

"Uhh, hello?" Hans said.

"Yes, 'hello' to you too. Now be more careful!" the bird answered.

Sai laughed.

Just then, another creature, a portly beaver, ambled out of a nearby bush and introduced himself, very pleasantly, and welcomed the three to the land of Narnia.

"Well it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Savannah said, reaching down to shake the beaver's paw.

"The pleasure is mine, Miss," the beaver said, also with a voice like a human's.

She was taking to this land far more naturally than either of the princes, who more or less stood there gaping at the talking animals. True, Ansem had seen talking animals like the little fox in Bert and Marry Poppin's chalk picture fantasy world, but they weren't remotely realistic looking. At first inspection, however, the beasts of Narnia could not be told apart at all from the animals back in the wilds of Hollow Bastion.

Still in physical distress, Ansem remained more or less distracted as the beaver talked, so that the next thing he really knew for sure was that it was leading Hans and Savannah away, and they were quite happy to follow. What else could Ansem do but follow _them_?

The beaver had them walking quickly, crouching low, and ducking and darting all over the place, and insisted that their stealth was of the utmost importance if they valued their lives. This made Ansem grow all the more suspicious of the furry creature, because it had not yet explained what the danger that it thought existed was. You'd think there were, like, sniper assassins hidden in the rocks, or something, from listening to how the beaver urged them along.

Where it was taking them turned out to be its own home, a log dam seated upon a wide frozen river. Unlike any beavers dam that Ansem had ever seen before that day, however, this one had paned windows, a smoking chimney, a front door complete with welcome mat, and even lights on inside glowing warmly through the window's curtains.

"It isn't much," the beaver told them, "But it's home."

"I kind of like it," Ansem told him, bobbing his head as though something like this was perfectly normal back where he came from, and he personally was an expert on the critique of their design appeal.

"Well thank you young sir," the beaver said, smiling proudly. "Chewed every single one of them trees meself. I was younger then, of course."

"Impressive. I couldn't have done that," Ansem said, causing the beaver to chuckle heartily.

It warned them to be careful not to slip on the ice as they stepped onto the river, which looked as though it had been frozen solid for quite some time, as they all made their way down to the wooden construct. Hauntingly, Ansem noticed as they crossed, there were large fish frozen lifelike in it, close to the surface where one could still see, as though the solidification of the rushing waters had happened instantly. He even knelt down and wiped the snow off of one to get a better look; The thing appeared to be looking right at him, and though he wasn't exactly versed in the reading of fish facial expressions, Ansem thought he could recognize terror in its bulging round eyes.

"Beaver, is that you?" he heard a woman's voice call aloud. But, turning his head, Ansem saw only a second small brown animal come walking-yes, walking-out from around the other side of the dam, apparently where a tiny storage room was located. "I've been worried sick!" she hollered, launching into an anxious rant. "If I find you've been out with Badger again, I..." Her last words caught in her throat the instant she noticed the three stragglers.

Ansem stood up, everyones' eyes on everyone else, in mutual surprise.

"Oohh. Those aren't badgers," the lady beaver gasped, lifting both of her small black paws to her furry cheeks. "Oooh! I never thought I'd live to see this day," she continued, beaming in joyous awe and walking right up to them to get a closer look and introduce herself, fretting about her fur to her husband and asking couldn't he have given her just ten minutes warning.

"I'd 'ave given you a week if I though' it would 'ave helped," he teased her, and they all laughed.

Inside the dam, Mrs. Beaver prepared a hot dinner for everyone, for by then it was late and the sky had grown dark, and they were all tired from the tedious, irregularly athletic trip. Ansem especially, who even then was still not feeling better. Mrs. Beaver sympathized with him and prepared a place for him to lay on their couch, while everyone else took seats around a small, crowded, circular dining table. Mr. Beaver seated himself in a chair, but Hans and Savannah both had to sit on the floor because of the table's proportionate height.

"Fish and chips?" Mrs. Beaver offered, at length, sliding a steaming plate in front of each individual at the dining table, and finally giving Ansem one on a bed tray. She hadn't been kidding, either; The fish fillets looked fantastic, but the "chips" were _real, wooden, chips_, unfit for human consumption. Ansem smiled to himself, but didn't say anything to the chef.

"Poor Tulmnus," Mr. Beaver lamented as he took up a knife and fork, skewered a piece of bark from his plate, and began gnawing on it. "I 'ope he can 'old out for a little while, bless 'is soul. If it wasn't for 'im, none of us ever would 'ave known that there were 'umans in Narnia again. The White Witch gave orders, yeh see, that if anyone ever finds one, we're to immediately turn it over to _'er_."

"The White Witch?" Ansem butted in, removing the warm damp cloth from his forehead; The couch was only in the next room, and well within earshot of the conversation. That title sounded self-explanatory enough. Could the beaver have meant _Jadis_?

"Aye. She's the one who makes it always winter, always cold; Always cold, and never Christmas! Narnia 'asn't seen a change of season in more'n a 'undred years."

"You mean you haven't had a Christmas in a hundred years?" Sai gasped; Clearly this was her favorite holiday.

"It's true," Mrs. Beaver answered sadly.

"But _Tulmnus_, you see, 'e found one 'e did. Another girl a little older than you, but 'e wouldn't turn 'er in! And now _Aslan's_ returned, and he's waitn' for yeh near the Stone Table, trainin' an army!" Mr. Beaver continued to explain, becoming more and more excited and animated with every breath, until he was practically raving in his seat.

As Ansem lay quietly, listening in, he found himself quickly becoming more and more perplexed by what he was learning. First of all, if Jadis didn't want any humans in Narnia, then why would she have let _him_ go free, and even have asked that he return and bring more?

Secondly, a _hundred years_? How could she have possibly held the land under a spell for that long if she was only mortal? As Ansem personally knew to be the case from his conversation with her. There were too many inconsistencies. The Beavers seemed hospitable enough, but so had Jadis, he thought.

_Or had she?_ Ansem found that many of the details that he used to recall quite clearly were starting to fade rapidly. _Strange... It must just be because this cold has got my head all fogged up, he reasoned with himself._

Boy was he getting drowsy, and possibly dosed off for a little while here and there. Each time that he awoke, he always found that the topic of the conversation in the kitchen had shifted, with whole chunks missing from his memory, and in their place were crystal clear visions himself becoming a powerful sorcerer. Ansem began to wonder if maybe he _shouldn't_ have asked to be taught magic, because that carrot was so tantalizing that it now seemed like it was taking over his soul, manifesting in his every dream, and even while awake, refusing to be stuffed away in the back of his mind when he _wanted_ to focus on other things. _Although_ the mere knowledge itself that such a thing was _actually possible_ made him deliriously happy, conversely it was becoming a heavy, heavy burden on him due simply to the notion's irremovable presence, every moment of every second of every minute of the whole gosh darn day so far.

He needed to 'cure' himself, but he could only think of one way to do so. It was far, far too late to take the request back. So, maybe, just maybe, if he carried through with his promise to Jadis, could he at least stop dwelling on the thing he wanted most? Ansem was both ashamed of his lack of mental discipline, for not being able to handle something as simple as thinking abut something too much on his own, and impressed by the power and permanence of the thought which he both cherished and started to hate, to a degree, at the exact same time.

Brooding on this, Ansem was already on his feet before he even fully realized that he'd ever gotten off the couch; In essence, he practically woke up pacing! He stuck his fingers in his hair and tried to think. No way would Hans ever want to meet Jadis after all that he'd seen and heard today, nor, Ansem knew, could his brother be reasoned with. Not that Hans wasn't justified in believing that Jadis must be some kind of wicked witch; He'd never met her for himself. But the Beavers were opinionated commonfolk, who may or may not be correct in everything they thought about their head of state. Rumors spread like wildfire when you're royalty, and Hans of all people should know that better than even he, himself, did.

Ansem's mind was made up. He would pay a visit to the White Witch and arrange for her to meet Hans 'by chance' at a predetermined location. He had gathered from his eavesdropping where the Beavers would be taking Hans and Savannah in the morning, but that didn't leave him much time. He tugged at the peach colored curtain of one of the only two windows, and conveniently found the view outside to contain the two distinctive hills, which Jadis had indicated the day before to denote where her place of residence was. His barrings were set. Now, to get out of here somehow.

Ansem checked on the others in the kitchen, who were still so deep in their conversation that they probably wouldn't have noticed if he'd come galloping through on a horse. Well, ok, maybe not that bad. But Hans and Sai were listening incredibly intently, and yet the Beaver wasn't even making a whole lot of sense. "Sense" as Ansem defined it, anyway.

And so, slipping quietly away, through the front door, and out into the night wind, he suddenly realized that he'd forgotten his coat on a hook just inside

_Dangit_, he lamented, but dared not go back in for it lest he be noticed. What did it matter, anyway, if he was _already_ sick? he told himself. Over the last half hour, he still hadn't felt 'well', but the battle in his mind had overshadowed his physical condition so completely that he'd actually _forgotten_ about it. His obsession actually gave him strength.

He spotted the hills again, and then set out across the ice, following the river for it lead, presumably, right into that very valley. It was an eerie walk, however, because of the silver fish shining frozen below his feet in the moonlight; Though they were long dead, he could almost feel their eyes turning to follow him, as though he was doing something morally wrong. There were dark woods on either side of the river, as well, from which Ansem could hear all manner of creepy night sounds being released: hoots, howls, twigs breaking, and deep, rumbling growls both near and far. Had he not been worked up into such a mental state, Ansem was sure that he might not have been able to walk as calmly as he did. He started, and stopped, and jumped, and sprinted, and above all froze in his tracks to listen, as well as froze literally right through to his bones. He kept his hands clenched up in fists deep inside of his pants pockets, and tried to achieve something similar with his toes being deep inside his long, black boots, which weren't very warm at all, but still kept his socks _perfectly_ dry.

At last, ascending the foothills below the twin peaks, Ansem beheld the ice queen's castle, a tall, blue glittering temple, with deep set windows that glowed icy green like blazing, peppermint stars encrusting its entire surface. Arriving at a dumbstruck standstill, Ansem couldn't help but feel reverberating throughout every fiber of his being a deep, ringing, ominous awe. He wanted to run from the place, but he didn't know why; He desperately wanted to stay, maybe forever, but couldn't for the life of him figure out why, either. Two titans of confusion were dueling inside him, such that Ansem could no longer discern what the right course of action to take was anymore.

Which was why Ansem was was so glad that at least he had his memory, and a firm grip on reaason. All he had to do at this point was stick to his guns.

"It's too late; I've come too far to go back," he told himself, as if that took the edge off any blame he might incur. And then he also thought of living with having _not_ gone in, and potentially being plagued with "What if I had?" fantasies until the end of his days; And frankly, the thought made his blood run cold as the very river itself.

The narrow, five-story-tall double front gate opened autonomously as Ansem approached, as if guided by ghosts, and likewise shut themselves in his wake.

He had a bitter taste in his mouth as though he'd eaten something rotten, but the fact was that he hadn't even been able to quiet his churning stomach enough to even sample the dinner, if but only the fillets, that Mrs. Beaver had given him. He was so hungry he was almost dizzy, but his walk through the elements just now seemed to have helped his stomach; Perhaps the queen wouldn't mind if he imposed on her for a meal? Not like it was hard for her to simply waive a magic wand and _poof!_ there it is; Ansem thought, almost with glee, that he'd even gladly do it himself if she would only show him how, _tonight_.

The first thing he came to was an expansive courtyard, or garden, just inside the gate. It was in the dead of night, so he couldn't see too well, but still at least well enough to tell that there were great fountains pouring silent streams of ice from their spigots, out into broad, low basins of gray, plain stone, with snow piled thickly upon its low rim, and even atop the solidified flows themselves. The ground was paved, obviously, but buried six inches deep in dry, powdery white; Looking around more carefully, only then did Ansem realize that the yard was actually indoors, and though it had a roof overhead, fresh snow still continued to fall from above, although he couldn't visually or physically see how.

There were no trees or even flower troughs, and worse yet, there were, however, towering, life-sized and lifelike, stone sculptures by the hundreds, dominating the space, like headstones in a cemetery. They were impressive, but not beautiful, depicting, presumably, every race of being, animal or humanlike, found throughout Narnia; Not one amongst them had on its face, or in its distinctive pose, a pleasant story to tell. Namely, all were in _anguish_; Giants and centaurs, minotaurs, goblins, griffins, rearing horses, roaring lions, elven knights, and even small rodents wearing helmets and brandishing tiny rapiers.

_How strange_, Ansem thought, creeping slowly in between them to try and find his way. They were kind of, no, not kind of, they were _extremely_ creepy. True they were covered in snow like the fountains, but he still had to reach out and touch them sometimes to _make sure_ that they weren't real; Many, actually, he saw to be wearing armor and carrying weapons, and some of these even had their weapons raised with bloodthirsty fury carved into their dead eyes, making Ansem startle as he passed under them, reflexively thinking that they were attacking _him_.

_A sculpture garden of a battle? ...maybe a famous historical one?_ Ansem reasoned.

There was a second, inner entranceway just up ahead. It had taken Ansem several long minutes to become accustomed to the strange garden and not be so spooked by it in the dark, but no sooner had he managed it then he stepped over a figure of a sleeping wolf and it sprang to frightful life. The creature pounced him agilely, with a sudden and savage snarl that terrified Ansem, and proclaimed,

"Be still stranger, or you'll never move again!" with one of its large, grizzly paws pressing him down into the ground just under his throat. He spoke with a deep, cool, hoarse male voice, precisely characteristic of a gnarled old rogue who has lived a life of nothing but fighting endless wars. The creature was enormous, far larger than a regular wolf, with jaws undoubtedly capable of taking off his whole head all in one, fell chomp if it so chose to. And its thick, dense, ashen-gray fur only made it look bigger. "Who are you?" it growled, through raised lips that exposed its yellowish, virtually saber-like teeth; It said this so close to Ansem face that the prince was even able to smell the blood on its breath from whenever the last time that it ate.

Ansem almost didn't keep his cool, and the truth was that he only did because he'd had the wind completely knocked out of him and couldn't breathe to scream until the creature had finished and he could see that it was waiting for him to answer.

"I'm Ansem, Prince of Hollow Bastion. I've come to see the Queen of Narnia," he answered, brokenly, as he regained his breath, his voice coming out much too high for his own liking. Since the Beavers had been referring to human beings as "Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve," next he threw in that respective title as well, which finally won for him the wolf's favor.

"Hm. My apologies, fortunate favorite of the Queen," he said, letting him up and backing off respectfully, but Ansem heard him hiss something else under his breath that he couldn't understand. "Right this way," the wolf said, walking away with its head held low.

They ascended a wide flight of blue-greenish colored stairs with crystalline banisters, and then turned right into her throne room. At the top of the stairs they came into a sunken area in the floor surrounded by six broad support pillars, three on each side, that at their bases melded into the four or fives steps that created the upper half-level. Directly in front of them as they entered was a kind of bottleneck portion of the room, at the back end of which was seated the throne itself, empty of the queen, but sprawled over with the mink coat that Ansem recognized from their meeting in the sleigh. The wolf led him right up to it, and bid, simply,

"Wait here," and walked off.

Ansem leant against one of the pillars that was in front of it on the right, and folded his arms in quiet thought while he casually studied it. It had a simple shape that was very boxlike and typical of theatrical thrones in, all be them the more elaborate productions, stage plays; The one truly distinctive feature of it was that it was made of solid, blueish ice.

_If her throne is made of ice, then maybe this land /does/ never melt year round_, Ansem thought, his face souring, of course assuming that it wasn't just a festive seasonal item which would be replaced with something else come Spring, like maybe one made of green jade. _On the other hand, it is possible that Narnia has entered a natural ice age, and since Jadis can do magic people who are unhappy with her decisions just blame her..._

He was starting to feel ill again now that the great physical effort of hiking here in the snow was done with, and now that he was mentally calming down since all that he had left to do was wait patiently, which returned his focus unto petty discomforts. Or so was his belief.

Ansem closed his eyes peacefully to rest them. The whole interior of the castle was quite dark, with only swarms of tiny, softly glowing spheres floating like aquamarine Christmas lights along the highest parts of the ceilings. It was cold, but by this point he had already been too cold for too long to mind.

A few minutes later, Jadis entered carrying a long, elegant silver rod with a large pointed crystal at one end, and still wearing the same sparkling white dress.

Ansem opened his eyes again as he heard her approach, just as she seated herself regally upon her throne. If she had any, her emotion was veiled to him completely; He knew his feelings shouldn't be hurt if she didn't suddenly run up and hug him, but at least, he thought, it wouldn't have hurt to smile and greet him.

_She's not human,_ he reminded himself, deciding not to hold her to the same standards of empathy that he would have otherwise expected.

"Tell me, Ansem," she began, her voice as cool as fresh spring water, "is your brother _deaf_?"

_Huh?_ thought Ansem, lost on the purpose of the question. "No."

"Is he..._unintelligent?_" Jadis asked.

"No," Ansem told her, furrowing his eyebrows. But then came the blow.

"Then HOW _DARE_ you come ALONE!" Jadis suddenly shrieked, leaping to her feet and approaching Ansem, menacingly. Her height alone was imposing, but more than anything, even the fear of her maybe casting some kind of spell on him, Ansem was just shocked speechless by this amazing reversal in her character, which he had tried so hard to believe in in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. But even if he had believed her to be a total monster, Ansem thought, he would have still been wrong-she was worse.

The witch kept screaming at him, her voice as terrible as high thunder filling the throne room, and likely the whole castle and its surrounding valley besides, Ansem thought. He slid past the pillar and backed away, his eyes wide and dilating as he realized his mistake, and now in terror for his life.

"Do you realize what you've done? You ruined everything! My _life_, my entire _kingdom_ is at stake, and _what do you do_? You're USELESS! _USELESS!_" She raised her silver wand above her head as if to strike him, but Ansem could recognize a spell coming when he saw one, and he _freaked_. Foreseeing that the only way to get out of this alive was to win back the witch's favor, he stammered,

"But...but I did bring them halfway. They're at the little house on the dam, where the Beavers are."

Jadis' strong, white hand halted in the air, and her raging, contorted facial expression instantly changed into a tame one of showing no more than mild interest, as if the two had just been discussing the unchanging weather up until then. It was only ironic that the weather just so happened to _be_ unchanging.

"_'They'_?" she repeated.

_Oh...snap_, Ansem suddenly realized, too late. Unfortunately, the look on his face must have given him away.

"There is...someone else?" Jadis asked, sounding like her old, sweet self again, except for still holding the wand up, which actually made quite a big difference.

"Nn...no. Hans was just talking with the Beavers when I snuck away, that's all." Ansem was flying in survival mode, now.

But Jadis' lip curled into cruel, chilling smile.

"You're a liar," she said, slowly lowering her wand. "But I can use that...because you're bad at it. Take him away!" she said, suddenly bellowing her command into the seemingly empty depths of the castle.

_Yeah, she would know, wouldn't she_, Ansem hatefully thought, guessing that she had never meant to teach him any magic, after all.

The little man that Ansem recognized as Ginarrbrik emerged from one of the shadowy hallways, immediately followed by three other ugly, gnomish creatures. They bound his hands behind his back with twine rope, but he remained relaxed and stoic with nothing but a bitter shadow over his eyes while he stared at the Narnian queen. Jadis smirked at him as they finished, and then barked another undirected command into the deceptive emptiness.

"Maugrim!"

And from up above, another gigantic timber wolf came bounding to her side, sleek of fur, and with dangerous yellow eyes.

"Yes my queen," it wheezed in a deep, booming, male voice as it bowed its head nearly to the floor.

_That name...was on the warrant we found in the cave_, Ansem thought, finally coming to see that everything was as it seemed to be, and feeling all the more repulsed by his own actions.

Jadis only said to the wolf, quite sweetly, "You know what to do," and as Ansem was lead away by the four dwarfs, he could hear the beast's song ringing through the night, a bloodcurdling, mournful cry to summon its kin that they go forth and do the witch's bidding. He heard many, many other howls resound in a collaborative, harmonious response, and realized, feeling like an invisible knife had just been plunged into his heart, that they were off to an attack; All along, he had brought his older brother to this world to die.


End file.
